World of Fire and Ice
by KingGustav
Summary: Evil has returned, World War Three is imminent, and the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of the people Europe once prayed God would deliver them from: the Nordics. But along the way, they meet new friends, visit strange places, and learn that sometimes, the hero is the last person they would expect. Rated T for obvious reasons.
1. Prologue

-NOVEMBER 1918-

Kaiser Germany was relaxing in his hunting lodge, sipping a good ale while listening to the music of Richard Strauss.

He watched as the weather was getting progressively worse. The dropping temperatures and increasing rains were signs that snow- and winter- were not too far off. Kaiser Germany loved winter- the peace, the quiet, the falling snow. It would be a relief after the hell he had been through recently.

Kaiser Austria had been shot and killed by Serbia a while ago. Kaiser Germany wasn't surprised; the guy was a more than a little pretentious and had been a bit of a dick to Serbia for quite some time. He had it going to him.

But then, all of a sudden, France, Britain, and Tsar Russia were harassing Kaiser Germany! He had caught France trying to commit armed robbery, Britain setting fire to the surrounding forests, and innumerable hitmen sent by Tsar Russia to assassinate him, for God's sake! He had gotten proper revenge, sort of.

He almost made it to France's house, but got stuck in the mud and couldn't go anywhere. While he tried to get out, France kept shooting at him, but of course missed.

Then America had to get in on the action! He kept peeking through his windows, spitting on him, calling him awful names, and even stuck his tongue out once or twice. He wasn't trying to kill Kaiser Germany, mind you, but instead resorted to the tactic of being the biggest asshole in the entire war. _Wait, _Kaiser Germany thought. _That's what he's like anyway!_

Things had been slowly settling down for a couple of months now. Kaiser Germany had felt that he had properly deterred the Triple Entente, and his home was still pretty secure.

As much as he knew, he thought that peace was right around the corner- after all, nobody was really winning or losing. At this point in the game, it was mostly just empty threats.

America had settled down a bit (at least he _seemed _to) and proposed an endgame that favored everyone- minor territorial losses to both sides, some military concessions, and the like. Everyone seemed to be on board with it, and Kaiser Germany was just waiting for the final draft.

That was a month ago, however, and he hadn't heard as much as a peep out of them since.

So imagine his surprise when, on this chilly November evening, France comes knocking on his door.

"May I help you?" asked Kaiser Germany, quite (and rightfully so) suspicious.

"Hey, yeah, we have the peace accord ready for you," France replied. She was dressed quite sparsely for such hostile weather, but Kaiser Germany decided not to raise the point that he sort of liked her, despite having also a deep hatred for her for over a hundred years.

"Alright. Cool! Let me go get my coat and I'll be right over." As he walked over to the closet to get his coat, he felt a sharp, painful sting on the back of his neck. "Ow! What the-" but before he could finish his sentence, France judo-flipped him and tied his hands behind his back.

"Was die verdammte Hölle?" he yelled as France blindfolded him and kicked him in the back. "What do you want, you Gallic bitch?" he spat. With one expert swing, he was out cold.

When he came to, he was in a cold, dark prison cell. Someone else was there with him.

"_Tisztelt Uram, irgalmazz nekem_," whispered a voice.

"K… Kaiser Hungary?" Kaiser Germany croaked. "th- They got you, too?" Kaiser Hungary nodded in the affirmative. Sure, he had been Kaiser Austria's servant boy for several years, but he had desperately tried to hold his own during the war. He had lost badly a couple of times to King Italy, which really got to him; after that, he sort of withdrew from the fighting.

Kaiser Germany's crown was beaten, and his shirt was torn in many places. And he was very cold. As he desperately tried to adjust to his surroundings, he felt vibrations through the concrete floor. They sounded like boots. When he looked up, the only light he could see was a dim lightbulb radiating a faint glow through the prison.

A silhouette of a tall, curvy female towered over him. "What…" he croaked faintly. "Where…" "_Il était bien danser avec vous, mon cher Allemagne_," France purred as she produced a small handgun.

Fear immediately surged through Kaiser Germany's body.

"_Mais il doit se terminer maintenant, je le crains._" She grabbed Kaiser Germany and threw him towards the wall. "Say your prayers, old friend," she said as she aimed the gun to the back of his head. She fired twice, then walked out.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

The Nordic countries were sitting around at Sweden's place, bored to death.

Norway was laying on Sweden's bed, studying the complex patterns in the ceiling. Denmark was trying to play "Happy Birthday" with several beer bottles that were laying on the floor. Sweden had passed out and was in the process of falling off the bed. Finland was, of course, drinking his problems away.

Iceland hadn't shown up yet, but that was probably a good thing, since he would make them go do something like volcano-diving if he saw them in this state. There was a knock at the door. Finland answered.

It was Iceland.

Speak of the devil.

"Hey, what're you guys doing?" he inquired. Finland shrugged and grunted. "I see," said Iceland, pretending to understand what that was. "Well, I was about to go skydiving and I was wondering…" He then started shivering. "Jeez, why is it so cold all of a sudden?"

A bitter chill swept through the well-heated abode. Norway yelled, "Gah! Sweden!"

Sweden awoke with a start. "Huh?" he groaned. "Unh… uh...AHHH!" and with a loud thud, he fell off the bed. "Jesus, it really is cold all of a sudden," Sweden said groggily. "Must be a window." The four countries walked into the living room.

All of the windows were closed, arousing their suspicions further. Sweden went to the furnace and poked around. Denmark rooted around for beer. Soon enough, the heat came back. "Urgh, finally," muttered Norway as they went to go back to napping.

* * *

As the Scandinavians were in the process of taking a nap, Sister America was relaxing in her beach house.

California was nice all of the year. Her day had just been as exciting as the Nordics': she would fall asleep, watch a little TMZ, eat a fish taco (which were plentiful), repeat. Ottawa would snuggle up on the bed.

Then, inexplicably, it got very cold. Sister America frowned, got up, and shivered her way to the heating unit. She hit it a couple of times, and the heat came back. However, she noticed a couple of strange things.

One was the small amounts of white fluff that were all over the kitchen floor.

Was that… cotton?

As she investigated, she smelled the strong stench of tobacco.

And it wasn't like a cigarette, either. It was as if somebody had lit a pile of fresh dried tobacco on fire.

As the smell intoxicated her, she struggled to move outside. The doors were locked from the outside! She started to swoon.

Then she heard it. A sound, like a child laughing. Then, in her ear, she heard someone softly sing, "Way down South in the land of cotton…"

Darkness.

* * *

_Okay, author time._

_This story had been brewing in my mind for a while. When it had finished brewing, I forgot to ferment it, and the result was a dead end. However, I think I've got it now. I've been meaning to do a SatW adventure story for a while- just straight-up adventure, replete with all of the SatW trademarks._

_It might be worth my time explaining the plot. The gist is that a certain someone has zombified all of the dead nations- Imperial Germany, Confederate America, etc.- with the hopes of starting another war, in which he/she would win and gain revenge._

_There are going to be quite a few OCs, including my self-insert character._

_Also, the 1918 bit comes into importance soon. And yes, it's supposed to be a brief summary of World War One from a SatW standpoint, and especially Versailles. And yes, I am biased towards Kaiser Germany._

_Let's see how this turns out..._


	2. Zombie Germany

Christiania was mildly annoyed. Why? Because his father had sent him away with his aunt to one of her gatherings.

First off, Christiania could stand Sister Denmark only a little more than his father. She was a little more accepting of Christiania's anarchist tendencies, but still insisted that he was too young and small to engage in the activities he did.

Worse still, she often made Christiania go to her frequent parties with the other Nordic females; since there wasn't much in the way of offensiveness, the Nordic males would often dump their children off with them. Which often meant that Christiania was sitting in another room with FennoSwede and Kven, bored to death. And, as it happens, that is exactly what was happening right now.

So Christiania snuck off to the back porch. He felt around his pockets, and produced his small travel pipe and a tiny amount of pot. He knew how much trouble he would be in if he was caught, but he frankly didn't care. He lit the pipe, muttered, "to peace and freedom", and smoked.

As he relaxed, he heard something rustling in the bushes. He had only been smoking for about a minute; no way he was seeing things _now_. He put out his pipe (albeit with much regret) and went to see what it was; he suspected Russia's cat had gone astray again. However, he was met by a very different sight.

Lying there was Germany.

But it wasn't Germany.

He wore a red, white, and black shirt, sort of like that pest Sealand, but the bars were horizontal. He also wore a helmet with a rather fancy point on the top, and he had a huge sword.

He looked like hell; he had cuts all over, his shirt was torn, and he had two large bullet wounds to the back of the head. Despite all of this, he seemed to be shakily breathing.

Christiania was suddenly frightened; he remembered the comics America had given him.

He burst into the house screaming, "ZOMBIE GERMANY! ZOMBIE GERMANY!" Sister Denmark sprung up and clapped her hand over Christiania's mouth.

"I'm so sorry about this," she said, mortally embarrassed. Then she gave Christiania the biggest stink-eye the world ever saw and whispered, "This better be good, you hippie rat."

Christiania knew he had made her pissed; usually that insult was used by his father.

When he had dragged her over, she took one look at the body lying in the bushes and said, "Oh God. Go, get your father and his friends. Also, get Germany."

Christiania ran. He bolted down Sister Norway's driveway and ran. As he neared her brother's place, he could tell something wasn't right. Something in the east… it smelled like factory fumes…

* * *

Denmark was half-conscious; however, it was an improvement from the others, who were outright passed out all over the place. Suddenly, a loud BANG BANG BANG pounded on the door.

Sweden awoke at once, furious. "Whoever in the name of-" he stopped when he opened the door. He couldn't see anybody. "Who's there?" Sweden asked, still angry. "Yoohoo, eyes down here, nerd," said an insolent child's voice.

Sweden looked down to see a child wearing a red shirt with three yellow dots. He had Denmark's hair. Immediately, Sweden prepared to unleash a speech about politeness, but was interrupted by Christiania's dad.

Denmark, with visibly forced politeness, said, "Why are you here? I told you to go with my sister!"

"I did, asstard," retorted Christiania. "I was out in the back poking around, and I found some dude who looked like Germany lying there. And no, it's not you-know-who," he said, seeing their concerned faces. "I'm on my way to get Germany right now. The sisters want you at Sister Norway's house."

* * *

The German siblings were having just a normal day. "What do you want for lunch?" Sister Germany asked.

"Sausages."

"You always have sausages."

"I WANT SAUSAGES!" yelled a now childlike Germany.

"Fine, fine," Sister Germany grumbled.

Just as she put some Jimmy Deans on the stove (sure, they were America's, but they didn't have anything else), the doorbell rang. With a raised eyebrow and a shrug, Sister Germany indicated that she didn't know who it would be. So Germany went to get the door.

"Huh? What? Oh, hi," he said, looking down at a pouting Christiania.

"What bring you here? Here, come inside. My sister is _cooking up sausages_," he said with a pointed glare at Sister Germany.

_I bet that's not the only thing she does with sausages,_ thought Christiania with a smirk. His father's genes ran well.

"Um, well, yes, thank you," Christiania said. "I'm on an errand from my aunt, actually. We need you at Sister Norway's house. There's been an… issue." Germany looked at him suspiciously while he served up some links.

"What kind of an issue?" he asked.

"Let's just say that this is somebody you might want to meet," Christiania replied cautiously.

"Someone I might _want _to meet?"

"Yeah."

"So that rules out… _him_."

"For now, yes."

Germany had gobbled his sausages down. Christiania wasn't very hungry, but he ate them out of politeness. "Well, I guess that does it," he said. "Back in a while, Sis."

* * *

The Nordics and their siblings and kids, plus Germany, had gathered in the Norwegians' living room. Everyone, save the Finns, was abuzz with what was going on. Then, Christiania stood up and addressed the crowd.

Still chattering away.

"Um, hello?" Christiania tried. Even his own father was ignoring him, then again, that wasn't terribly odd. Then, all of the frustration of not being taken seriously for years suddenly vented.

"SHUT UP AND RESPECT ME FOR ONCE, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" he screamed.

Dead silence. Everyone was staring at him. Adrenaline rushing, he began.

"As you may know, you have been brought here on an urgent matter," he began.

"Wow, a coherent sentence," Denmark snickered to Norway. Sweden shushed him.

"This afternoon, I discovered something very bizarre in the bushes out back. Sister Denmark, if you would kindly bring in the body."

That got things going. "Wait a minute here," Norway protested. "Are you saying that you found a BODY on MY property?"

"Yep," replied Christiania. "Ah, here he is!"

Sister Denmark unceremoniously dropped the limp pseudo-Germany on the floor for everyone to see.

The reaction ranged from worried whispers (Sweden) to gasps (Denmark) to outright fainting (Germany).

But that was just a taster, for at that moment none other than America burst in the door, sobbing, with Canada in tow.

"Viking guys!" he yelled, voice choked with sobs.

They tried to understand what he was saying, but it was mostly incoherent babble.

"What he's trying to say," said Canada in a clipped and quiet voice, "is that his sister has been kidnapped."

* * *

_A/N: I actually really like the character of Christiania. I always found him a fun character to write._**  
**


	3. Dad

_Someone that America fears? Who could that be?_

* * *

The responses to the disappearance of Sister America were mixed. Some thought it was a good riddance, while others became very concerned, not the least bit because the kidnapper was someone America was scared of.

Sure, America was a crybaby, but there wasn't a single nation that he was outright _scared _of. North Korea and Iran's threats made him lose a little sleep at night, but they didn't, per se, scare him.

"Well, we can add that to the list of strange occurrences," said Sweden. "Not two minutes before you arrived, we discovered this guy," he said, pointing to the still-unconscious imposter Germany.

America seemed to recognize him immediately, recoiling in hatred. "_HIM!_" he said quietly. "You know him?" asked Sweden. "Well, yeah, duh," America said, still looking at the body with contempt.

"Well then... _who the hell is he?_" implored Norway. "Let's just say that you might want to take away that sword of his, because he's gonna use on the first person he sees… at least that he hates." America said it in a way that suggested that _he _might be on the receiving end. Albeit with a wary glance, Norway carefully pried the large sword away from the imposter's hands.

Unchanged. "Um, he doesn't look okay," Denmark stated. Sweden swung his head towards his friend. "No shit, Sherlock. He has two gunshot wounds to the back of the head, as well as obvious signs of internal injury. I doubt if we can help him."

Denmark looked glum, then had the face that Sweden feared- that look of a brilliant (but probably disastrous) idea. Yanking his son by the hand, Denmark said, "We'll be right back."

They re-emerged with two inflated balloons and two inflated grins. Standing over the comatose pseudo-Germany, they violently rubbed the balloons in their long hair. Denmark then took his and Christiania's balloon and slammed them into the body of pseudo-Germany.

Two things happened. First, Svalbard and Norway held down the body's arms and legs, as to prevent a violent awakening. Then, visible electric shocks resulted in the body yelling, "YEOW!"

The newly awakened Kaiser Germany sat bolt upright, hyperventilating. Faroes, who happened to be in the kitchen at the time, ran in with a brown paper bag. Plastering it to Kaiser Germany's face, Denmark rubbed Kaiser's back while Iceland took his vitals.

"He's in rough shape," Iceland declared. "I'm detecting multiple small fractures all over the chest area, mostly around the left ribcage. Although those wounds to the back of his head look serious, a little cleaning there should help things heal. His heart rate is all over the place, though. I suggest we move him to a quiet locale where he can rest." They all stared at the Finnish siblings.

"I know you won't like this, Finland," Iceland told him, "but your place is probably the quietest there is." Finland hadn't objected; he had the guest bed that the visitor could use.

* * *

Finland fireman-carried the limp Kaiser to his house, thinking all the way, _who the perkele is this guy? _He didn't recognize the flag, although the helmet seemed old. And he (the other guy) seemed to obviously be related to Germany; they were almost identical. This guy seemed to have a little more, as America would call it, _oomph _than the Germany they knew.

Nothing seemed to trigger any bells in Finland's brain, although the visitor was recognized by America and Germany; when those two both recognized someone, it was not usually a good sign, especially if America could get the name right.

He set the by-now snoozing Kaiser down in the guest bedroom. All seemed to be okay… that is, until Germany barged in.

Finland and Åland were eating a very late dinner; admittedly, with the seasons it became harder to tell what time it was based solely on light. Then, Finland saw a cloaked figure approach the door and knock.

Åland eyeballed Finland and said, "You should probably answer that; I doubt it's for me." Finland growled and answered the door with knife in hand; Germany yelped and said, "Don't hurt me!"

Finland, seeing it was only Germany, grumbled and lowered his arm, but not the knife.

Germany removed his traveler's cloak and sat down to catch his breath; Åland prepared him a cup of coffee. It was obvious that he had ran there, and anyone who really knows Germany knows that he's not exactly the physical type. "Where- (breath) -is- (breath) -the- (breath) -dudewholookslikeme?"

Finland gestured up the stairs to the guest room. Germany clambered up and ran into the room, Finland and Åland right behind him.

Germany knelt before the comatose Kaiser and gently shook him. What happened next shocked the two cousins.

When Kaiser Germany came to, the younger Germany whispered, "Dad? Is that you?"

* * *

_Yep, Kaiser is Unified's dad. This is going to be real fun._


	4. Nordic Invasion

"_Dad?!_" Åland mouthed. Finland just raised his eyebrows and let out a long, low, whistle. With a sideways glance towards his cousin, Åland told Germany, "When your, er, father regains consciousness, you may disclose to him that Finland will be on coffeepot patrol, should he want some." Finland gave Åland a dirty look. "Oh, come on," Åland complained. "You don't do much but drink all day; the least you could do is be hospitality duty." With a sigh, Finland went downstairs to go prep the Mr. Coffee.

He plopped some Gevalia into the brewer (leftovers from Sweden's late-night visit last week) and started thinking. It wasn't something he was renowned for, but Finland was capable of intelligent thought, and he was at least smart enough to put puzzle pieces together. Finland started scribbling thoughts on a piece of 'Visit Finland' stationary he pulled out of the drawer.

Usually, he noted, Germany and Russia were historically connected, at least as far as their monarchies went. He had been a vassal of Tsar Russia for many, many years, and the birth of Imperial Germany was around the same time as the emancipation of the serfs in Russia. Their respective monarchies also ended within a year of each other; Tsar Russia was murdered in 1917, Imperial Germany in 1918, albeit by two vastly different people. And if Germany's dad had risen from the dead… the implications of that made Finland shudder with fear. Nonetheless, he wrote down all of his thoughts through bullet points on this piece of stationary, and, in a manner very befitting Finland, drunk a flask of homebrew and went to go soak this one out in the sauna. He programmed the brewer for an hour from then, then grabbed a birch stick and his towel.

* * *

As he accustomed himself to the heat, Finland let out a couple of long, deep breaths. It had been a while since he got to truly relax, what with the other Nordics' antics and all. They were his friends through and through, but sometimes they made him frustrated. He was especially worried about how they were going to take this… _Wait! _he thought. _I could present this to the Nordic Council at our next session!_ He smiled and relaxed a bit, with that thought off his mind.

About halfway through his session, someone entered. It was only Åland, but it was enough to startle him out of his thoughts. "Yeesh, it's only me, cuz," Åland said. "I didn't see you anywhere else, so I figured I'd join you here. I need it too, anyway." He noticed the piece of paper stuck in the fold of Finland's towel; taking a massive risk, he reached over and grabbed it, nearly grabbing something else in the process. Åland stuck his tongue out at his cousin; Finland gave Åland a death glare, then softened and gave a sigh of resignation.

As Åland read, his eyebrows furrowed, and by the end, he looked up at Finland's face, which was full of concern and not a little fear. For once, Åland agreed. "Were you going to present this to the others?" he asked. Finland nodded. "I'll come with. Hey, you'll need someone to translate," he added, noting Finland's sour facial expression. "It's not like anybody else can read Finnish." Finland loosened, which seemed to satisfy Åland. "Good," he said, and they finished out their sauna session. "Now let's attend to our guest. I know I have some questions to ask." Finland just followed; he had questions, too, but those were better left unanswered… for now.

* * *

When they entered the room, they saw Germany attending to his father, who by now was sitting upright in the bed, drinking a small cup of coffee. "You know, it would've been nice to know this _before _we brewed up our own stuff," said Åland, mildly irritated. "I know, I should've said something," Germany said sheepishly. "He packs his own stash. Turkish blend, 1914. It'll knock your socks off," he added with a smile.

Åland sighed, then sat on the bed. "So, let's begin with the obvious. What's your name?" The newcomer stared blankly for two seconds before saying, "Ah, sorry about that. I'm currently in the middle of, as you would say nowadays, a hard reboot."

After another generous gulp of potent Middle Eastern coffee, he said, "The name's Kaiser Germany. I'm ol' Unified's papa," patting his son on the back. "Yep, my youngest son. I assume your sister's doing alright?" he asked Germany. "Yeah," he replied. "Good, good," Kaiser Germany said. Clapping his hands, he said, "Now, why don't we get right down to business?"

"First things first," he started. "It's not like I've been dead and buried for decades. The memory of me lived on, albeit in the hearts of historians and teachers who taught about me in schools. I've been able to watch the world grow up and in some cases, regress." He withdrew a hand carved wooden pipe with a moderately long stem and a pouch of the finest tobacco. He filled the pipe and produced a match, lighting the bowl slowly and inhaling with a shallow breath. Pretty soon, he got a raging inferno in the pipe bowl, and he puffed away contentedly.

"The point being, I'm back, and better than ever. I don't know why I'm back, but all I know is that I'm do my best to help my son." Germany still looked mildly queasy, but he smiled.

"Now, what are we going to do next? Ah, yes, introduce ourselves. Obviously, there's Unified Germany over here. Then you," he said, pointing to Finland. "You must be Finland. I remember when you were a wee chap, freed from ol' Nicky's grasp. And, if I remember right, Uncle Joe tried to take you back, but you beat him up pretty badly," he said with a firm laugh. Finland smiled back. "A man of few words," Kaiser Germany added. "I like that. Your actions speak for you." He moved on.

"You. I don't recognize that flag, so you must be new," he told Åland. "I'm Åland, sir. I'm Finland's housemate, but I'm in a committed relationship with Sweden." "That's right, you're the Finn who speaks Swedish," Kaiser Germany remembered. "I bet that's awkward around the house, isn't it? Yes. Alright, let's go. I bet my arrival has raised some questions amongst your fellow nations." "That's one way of putting it," Åland muttered under his breath.

* * *

They arrived at the Nordic House. "Normally, Kaiser, this lodge is only reserved for the five Nordic countries, but Sweden's called a special council. We'll fix you up inside, since our councils last for a long time," Åland summarized.

When they got inside, they were greeted by the sight of Greenland and Faroe Islands having a 'heated discussion' (read: violent argument) with Denmark over the latest whaling sanctions. "Boys, boys," Kaiser Germany †intervened. "This is no way to extend the arm of diplomacy! Now, what seems to be the matter?"

Greenland started. "This son of a bitch gave me home rule five years ago, but still insists on telling me what to do and how to do it!" he bellowed, pointing furiously at Denmark. "Yeah!" piped up Faroes. "He denying Greenland and I the right to have our own way of life!" Kaiser Germany turned towards Denmark. "Now, Denmark, let's hear your side of it."

"Well, these two" -pointing at Greenland and Faroes- "have this barbaric custom of whaling, and as my subjects they have to at least heed my suggestions!" At that, Greenland withdrew his harpoon and Faroes his whaling knife, and it looked for a moment as if Denmark's colonies were going to have a revolution against their overlord.

Then Finland intervened and stepped between the two parties as to prevent a fight. He never intervened, unless it affected him in some way. And this would; Denmark's wounding and/or death would unbalance the Nordics and cause mayhem. "Get out of here, Sauna Boy," Faroes snarled. "This isn't your fight."

In a flash, Finland had Faroes under his arm in a headlock, leaving the colony spluttering and yelling obscenities. "Oh, dear," Kaiser Germany said. "Is this a regular occurrence?" Sweden answered, "This is normally why we don't invite the full Council. Denmark and his colonies have too rugged a relationship to get any sort of compromise out of any of them. Here, let's get some things done." He walked over to Finland and pried Faroes out of Finland's headlock, dropping him to the ground. Then he confiscated all weapons and said, "You may have these back after the council," to much protest.

"Alright, let's begin the council right now, while we're all here," Sweden announced. Everyone took their spots, with the nations seating around the large central table. Denmark's colonies were far away from him, seated around Iceland. "The first order of business is the matter of our new guest. Do you mind introducing yourself to the council?" He motioned to Kaiser Germany.

* * *

"Ah, yes. Well, I'm Kaiser Germany. I was around for the late 19th century and World War One, at the conclusion of which I was murdered. I had five children, four of which are alive and only two of which I still claim as my progeny. And one of them happens to be sitting right next to me," he said, causing Germany to blush furiously. "I don't know why I'm back, but all I know is that I am." Iceland raised his hand and said, "If I may, sir-" Kaiser Germany cut him off and said, "I know what you're going to ask, and since it might be of interest to the council, I'll go ahead and tell. You're wanting to know of my other children, _ja_? Well, here goes."

"My youngest child was Weimar. He looked just like Unified over here, but they couldn't be more different in the brain. While Unified is sharp and knows what's best in German interests, Weimar was… a pushover. He took over German operations after my death, and he was nothing less than an American puppet, signing that blasted Treaty of Versailles and capitulating to all of those embarrassing demands. He took responsibility for World War One, even though I actually wanted peace; that numbnut Kaiser Austria really started it all, as well as Tsar Russia."

"Well, you can imagine how that went over. The wealth we had cultivated for the last several decades was bankrupted almost immediately by America and England's reparation demands. After several years of this, my eldest son and his twin sister, who were both military, attempted a coup. It failed the first time, but the second time they succeeded with their fratricide plot, murdering Weimar and parading his corpse through Berlin." His face changed to show a combination of disgust and sorrow. "Then Nazi Germany and his sister established a total iron-fist control over the whole sorry affair."

At this, Norway interrupted. "NOW WAIT JUST A SEC! Are you saying that _Nazi Germany _has a _SISTER?_" Kaiser Germany looked surprised. "Why, yes," he said nonchalantly, even though the rest of the council looked shocked. "Now, back to the story."

After Nazi's inevitable defeat- I mean, c'mon, you can't run a country like _that _and expect glorious things to happen- Unified over here rose up, took charge, and he and his sister started to rebuild. However, that's not the end of it all. Apparently, Sister Nazi Germany had a bastard- literally- with Soviet Union, which produced East Germany, who was, simply put, a commie stooge.

He relegated my son to the name of 'West Germany', and they had a war of silence. Then, East Germany went the way of Soviet Union and my son became what he was supposed to be. I couldn't be prouder." He thumped his son on the back. "Now, if I'm understanding your next question, you want to know why I'm here."

* * *

Finland had been silent, of course. But he had also been thinking, and he couldn't hold in his question anymore. He prodded Åland and scribbled down his question. His cousin looked at him with an understanding expression, and raised his hand.

"If I may, Kaiser. My cousin Finland has a question that he wishes me to ask the council and you in particular."

"If you're back from the dead, what's stopping Russia's incarnations from being back, too?"

Dead silence. Kaiser Germany slowly turned his head and said, "Åland, God forbid."

Just as he did, though, a battering ram thumped through the front door, and the place was overrun in a matter of seconds. "Looks like we found 'em!" yelled a gleeful Nazi Germany. He and another country were soon invading the house. The other country wore a torn red shirt with a yellow hammer and sickle, and wore a green military cap with a red star. He had the face of a ruthless dictator… well, one ruthless dictator in particular…

* * *

"Ha! You aren't going to stay 'neutral' this time, dearies!" Nazi Germany cackled, as he bound every Nordic country there and marched them off into a vast underground network. "You're going to spend some quality time far away from here!" "Looks like the hollow-earth theory isn't _horribly _inaccurate," mumbled Denmark.

And with that, Nazi Germany slammed the door.

"Well, this sucks," Denmark deadpanned.

"Oh, this doesn't suck," said a new voice that sounded dangerously familiar… and dangerously feminine. "I can make it suck even more. Here, let me prove it." They heard a cell door open, a muffled grunt, and then it closed again. After a minute, Åland asked, "Wait a minute… where's Finland?"

Finland soon found himself bound and gagged in a dark interrogation room. "Well, well, well," said a silky smooth voice. "I've always wanted to try my tricks on you." The figure sashayed into view, and Finland nearly screamed. _She… she wouldn't dare! Who ARE you? OH SHIT! _he thought as his captor raised her whip.

* * *

_And NOW the ball starts rolling. Oh, things are only going to get better._

_And I'm probably going to focus on a character each chapter; in this case, Finland. Stay tuned. 12/19_

_Don't forget to be awesome!_


	5. Faroes Goes Nuts

The others sat in their cells, wondering collectively, "Well, what the hell do we do now?"

The invasion had been swift and brutal. The Nordic House remained intact, agenda still on the table. It needed to be, since Nazi Germany had set up camp inside of it.

Unfortunately, the weapons Sweden had confiscated from Greenland and Faroes were still in storage. Finland had retained his knife, but Finland had been taken from them by God-knows-who.

Now Sweden felt stupid. But in all honesty, who was expecting the most evil man alive and his undead frenemy to attack the one corner of Europe he usually left alone? There had to be a reason.

Sweden kept thinking long and hard. Sister America had been kidnapped. Kaiser Germany and Soviet Russia had been raised from the dead. But, Sweden noted, for every action there had to be an equal and opposite reaction, and this applied to international relations just as much as it did to physics.

Kaiser Germany had risen, Sweden thought, and allied himself with us. Soviet Russia had risen and allied himself with Nazi Germany. Sister America, an ally, had been kidnapped, which meant that they had to kidnap someone from Nazi Germany's camp. And, based on the cracking whips and bloodcurdling screams coming from upstairs, that might be easier said than done.

"Psst! Everyone! We need to escape!"

"_Nein scheiß_, Captain Obvious," Germany deadpanned.

Sweden rolled his eyes, then whispered, "Norway!"

Norway was playing some game with fish bones.

"Psst! Norway! It's Sweden!"

Norway glanced up.

"Do you still have Kaiser Germany's sword?"

* * *

A zombie stormtrooper wandered down into the dungeons. He had been told to take select captives and bring them to Nazi Germany for interrogation.

He had been told that they had been disarmed, so imagine his surprise when he found the edge of a large black sword right at his jugular, wielded by a very angry Norwegian.

"If you don't want to become a pile of limbs, follow my directions," Norway growled. The stormtrooper gulped and raised his hands in surrender.

"Good," Norway said. "Now, let me out. Then, hand me the keys to all of the dungeons. If you try any moves, I won't hesitate to kill you." The stormtrooper complied with every one of Norway's demands. He was beginning to walk away when he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. When he looked down, he understood why it felt _sharp_.

"You actually thought I was going to let you go?" Norway laughed grimly. "Nope!" The stormtrooper winced as Norway twisted the blade. "Now, die!" And he pulled it out. "And off with 'is 'ead!" he yelled joyously.

* * *

Norway stood there, the battle mentality subsiding, panting with zombie blood running down the sword. He had a wild look in his eye, something that the others had not seen since the Viking Age. Then he just abruptly stood up straight and walked back to the group. "I believe this is yours," he said as he handed Kaiser Germany his sword. Then he went to the back of the group with Denmark, who high-fived him.

Kaiser Germany looked incredulous; he turned around and said, "Son, you earned this."

Sweden looked at Norway with awe.

Here was a country who had been subjugated or under someone else for as long as anyone could remember, and who hadn't conquered anyone for over a thousand years. And yet, he had just unleashed his inner America on a Nazi.

Sweden started laughing Everyone looked at him as if he was being rude. He just laughed more.

"With all due respect to Norway," he said, "I've never seen you as a violent type." Norway blushed. "Clearly, I was wrong. I want you to lead this group, Norway. It's time that the Norwegian had their time in the sun." Kaiser Germany handed the sword back to Norway, who nervously holstered it to his back, Viking-style. "Well, I guess I'm in charge now."

They golf-clapped, as to not attract the attention of the Nazis.

"Well, what's next?" Iceland asked. "Well, let's get started!" Norway announced. "It seems as though Nazi Germany has been excavating under the lodge for quite some time; our best bet is to retake the house. Let's make 'em run!"

Meanwhile, in the house, Nazi Germany had constructed a makeshift throne room. He had a small army of SS doing basic duties, as well as an undead servant.

"Hurry up, brother!" Nazi Germany yelled. "Lunch doesn't last all day!"

Weimar Germany shuffled in. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, presenting a plate filled with Bavarian delights- dumplings, sauerkraut, and a variety of meats. "Ah, excellent," said a happy Nazi Germany. As he dug into lunch, he looked up at his brother. "Well, what are you still standing there for?" he snapped. "Go check on the technology department!"

Weimar about-faced and marched upstairs. Nazi Germany returned to his plate, completely oblivious to the three small countries breaking in through the window.

* * *

"OW!" an annoyed Faroes said. "That was my head!" "Shut up!" came Greenland's reply. "This place is crawling with Nazis!" "Both of y'all, shut up!" Iceland said. "Follow me!"

They snuck around the corner. A stormtrooper appeared, and they hid while Iceland flicked open a tiny pocketknife and went to dispose of said Nazi.

Three muffled yells and thumps on the floor later, Iceland returned with three SS uniforms. Faroes looked at Iceland incredulously. "You don't seriously expect us to-" "Yes, I do," Iceland interrupted. "Norway put me in charge of this operations, and I expect full cooperation!"

* * *

Three Arctic nations in SS uniforms crept up the stairs, and past several rooms that they didn't want to know about. The shuffled into the upstairs bathroom and locked the door. Iceland started to take his clothes off.

"Uhh… no homo?" said an increasingly uncomfortable Faroes.

"Dude, I fucking _sparkle_," Iceland replied, "so you might want to drop it with the 'no homo' and buck up for once. Plus, it's not exactly room temp up in the attic."

Muttering, Faroes undressed until they were all in their underwear.

Iceland went into the shower and pulled on the showerhead; a ladder descended from the ceiling, and Iceland climbed up. As he did, Greenland caught Faroes looking at Iceland's, er, backside, and he harassed him for it, saying, "Faroes, you were peeking!" in a taunting voice. Faroes spluttered, "I… I was not! I was just seeing… like… where… in the ceiling…" as he turned beet-red. Greenland just smiled wider and snickered, "Faroes, you're worse than Sweden!"

"Come on, you two," came Iceland's voice from the attic. With a final wrathful look at Greenland, Faroes ascended the ladder into the oven that was the Nordic House storage space.

* * *

It became immediately apparent _why _Iceland ordered them into their undies.

Even for Iceland, who spelunked volcanoes when bored, the temperature had gotten to be less than comfortable; for Greenland and Faroes, it was capable of melting them.

"God, you would expect it to be cooler up here," Greenland panted. "Nah," was Iceland's reply. "Now, I have a flashlight that you two can borrow."

He pulled out a massive flashlight that you could probably brain somebody with. Turning it on, he found it to have illuminated the whole attic space. "Well, I guess maybe not," he said, pleasantly surprised. "We're looking for your weapons, and something else." Well, Greenland and Faroes found their weapons soon enough, but what was Iceland looking for?

They were answered by a loud rummaging sound in the far left corner. "It has to be around here somewhere," Iceland grumbled. Seeing their puzzled expressions, Iceland explained.

"Sweden has a special container for up here for secure storage of his electronic equipment. Ah, here it is!" He pulled out a large briefcase that could probably withstand a nuclear apocalypse. "Now, we just need to put the stuff that belongs in it inside of it," he said, smiling at the two colonies.

"What are we supposed to wear?" Faroes complained. Iceland pointed at the Nazi uniforms on the bathroom floor. "Oh, you can't be serious," Greenland said.

* * *

Soon enough, Greenland and Faroe Islands, freshly uniformed and looking like proper Nazi stooges, were creeping down the hallway looking for Sweden's office, which just happened to be where Nazi Germany had set up his foreign intelligence office.

"Yes," said Faroes sarcastically, "let's dress up as Nazis, go into the one place in the whole damn lodge that we should avoid, beat up some stormtroopers, and jack Sweden's tech, all the while hoping to go unnoticed. Brilliant, just brilliant!"

Greenland hushed him and said, "Quiet! I think it's right here!"

They approached the door from the side. "Do we sneak in, or do we go gangbusters?" Faroes asked.

With a smile, Greenland said, "Screw politeness, let's go gangbusters." He tried the lock; it was locked. Withdrawing the standard-issue harpoon he always carried, he manually removed the lock and kicked the door down.

Immediately, five stormtroopers impaled themselves on his harpoon. "Faroes! Load Sweden's stuff up, I got these guys!" Faroes went to work, loading up anything that would fit and look tech-y in any way. "Greenland, we're good to go!" Greenland had cleaned house, leaving no survivors. He dumped the bodies out the window and put the lock back on the door. Everything was "back to normal".

They ran back and locked the door. "Did you get it?" came Iceland's voice, poking his head down from the attic. "Good," he said contentedly. "Now, take off your clothes. I've got some stuff to show you." Faroes grumbled, but did as he was told.

"This is where old relics go to gather dust," Iceland said."Just thought I'd show you two."

He held up a twisted wreath of branches. "This is the oldest crown we have, in fact. I think it's Denmark's. Something on the order of several hundred years old."

He set it down, and picked up an old helmet that looked like it had just come off of the set of Lord of the Rings. "This is Norway's old Viking helmet, back when he was an independent state." And he went on and on, even showing an old case of Finland's salmiakki from World War Two. Greenland had to eventually remind him of the goal. "Ah, yes," said Iceland. "Let's get out of here."

That would've been nice. However, that was not the case. You see, the Fates were feeling that our heroes were having just a little too much good luck, so they threw a monkey wrench into the works.

Greenland and Iceland had made it down onto the floor, so that just left Faroes. Of course, they assumed that he would do the same.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

* * *

Faroes fell from the ladder and through the bathroom floor, landing squarely in the middle of the living room, which not only was Nazi Germany's throne room but also happened to be the congregating area for the whole stormtrooper army.

"Well, this is wonderful," Faroes muttered. There he was, in his tighty-whities, surrounded by rabid Nazi zombies. Then, he remembered his whaling knife.

Oh, good.

Nazi Germany laughed evilly. "Well, I knew that they would try something. Looks like you got the short straw, eh? Ha! Well, I'll end it here for you." "Not so fast," Faroes growled. Then he attacked.

He slashed, hacked, and sawed. He stabbed, gutted, and disemboweled. He screamed, yelled, and hollered. And he didn't stop until every damn stormtrooper in the whole building had been exterminated.

* * *

Off in the distance, several armored figures on horseback approached the lodge. "Sweden, can you see anything?" yelled Norway. "Yeah, the lodge seems intact. The lights are on, so that's a sign of something." "Well, duh," said Sister Sweden. "So, you will still tell us what's going on when we get there, right?" "Of course," Norway replied.

Norway rode up alongside Sweden. "Really, Norway? Kicking it old school?" Sweden asked. "No school like the old school," Norway replied with a smile. Sweden raised his eyebrows and chuckled, "Won't disagree with you there, pal."

"There it is," called Kaiser Germany. "Let's see how bad it is."

There were multitudes of corpses littered all over the place, as well as blood covering the walls and floor. "_Gut Gott_, what happened here?" Kaiser Germany inquired. Stormtroopers seemed to be everywhere- the stairs, the halls, even the ceiling. When they went into the living room, they came across a sight that none of them will ever forget.

* * *

Standing in the middle of the room was Faroe Islands in his briefs, spattered with blood and guts. He had the look of a wild animal. He was normally an almost albino white figure, with average toning, like a vampiric teenager; however, he wasn't Icelandic eye candy, per se. He held his large knife to Nazi Germany's throat, his arm crusted in blood. In that moment, enveloped in rage and smattered with Nazi juice, he had managed to turn on every female in the room, as well as some males.

He raised his knife, ready to smite Nazi Germany, and then he passed out. Nazi Germany fled out a window.

As a couple of people checked up on him, Sweden asked (rhetorically), "Who expected that?"

"Not us," came Iceland's voice. He and Greenland came down the stairs, fresh and clean. Greenland was carrying a massive briefcase. "Oh, good, you got it!" Sweden exclaimed. "What? Oh, yeah," Iceland said. "Anyway, he fell through the bathroom floor. When we saw what he was doing, we hid in a broom closet."

"Not exactly fun," Greenland said.

They carried a comatose Faroes up to a bed and put him to rest. "I'll watch over him," Greenland said. "I'm his best friend." Norway nodded and said, "Seems reasonable. Greenland, you take care of Faroes. Sweden, set up shop and try to find a new base of operations; I doubt it'll be safe here. And the rest of you, either relax or help me find Finland."

Well, the long and short of it was that Finland was indeed around the house somewhere. Sister Nazi Germany had hidden him away rather well, and he was hoping to be rescued soon. He had never been in so much pain.

* * *

_I really found the picture of Faroes going Rambo on a bunch of Nazis really funny._

_Salmiakki is a salty licorice particularly popular in Finland. It was popularized during World War Two, when sugar was rationed._


	6. Leaving Home

**CHAPTER SIX**

Denmark heard the moans before anyone else. At first he thought it was a ghost, and promptly screamed loudly.

"Oh, Denmark," said Norway lovingly. "I'll go see what it- for the love of God, Kaiser, take this sword back, I feel like I'm going to kill someone with it in my hand- is. Follow me, everyone."

They followed the strange moaning sound- which became more prominent every minute or so. It sounded like howling, which made Denmark freak even more and clench tighter to Norway.

When the found the source, it was just a spare bedroom in the basement, back in the days when the Nordic Council was larger and had more friends. Upon opening, Denmark outright screamed.

Finland had been blindfolded with his hat, bound face down, and gagged. He was moaning in pain through the duct tape over his mouth, and they immediately saw why. His backside had been whipped raw- so much so that spots were bleeding. "Oh, God," Iceland said, covering his mouth.

"Looky here, my sweet, we have spectators!" came a familiar but distinctly German voice.

She looked like Sister Sweden, except for the outfit, which was a red dress with a swastika; in fact, they could've been identical twins. The main difference lay in what went on in their heads.

She carried a massive bullwhip and a sizeable container of lemon juice. "Now, dear, why don't we show our wonderful guests how we play?" She opened the container of lemon juice and didn't douse him with it, but rather placed small amounts in precisely the right (wrong?) spots, causing Finland to writhe as if he was being electrocuted.

That was more than enough for Sister Sweden. She ran up to Sister Nazi Germany, grabbed her bullwhip, and tied up her hands with it; then she smacked her with her crop several times over, enough to cause good welts.

"Now, listen to me, _Fraulein_. He's _my _pet, understand? You touch him, you'll get the Brunnhilde in me." She ripped the duct tape off of her lover's mouth and put it on Sister Nazi Germany's, then said, "You're our prisoner now."

Iceland attended to Finland. "He's in really bad shape. It's almost to the point of scarring, but I think with some TLC we can get Finland back to normal… or however close to normal we can get." He pulled out some medical supplies and got to work. "Why don't you go down and see how Sweden's doing?"

* * *

Ah, yes. Sweden. He had been desperately trying to get his wireless system up to the emergency generator; they had cut the power just in case Nazi Germany left any surprises.

He was having a hell of a time trying to find anything out about the outside world, as he knew that they couldn't stay at the Nordic lodge for long.

Nazi Germany obviously knew its location. They needed a new base to operate from.

"Any luck, Sweden?" Norway asked. Sweden looked like a combination of exhausted and frustrated.

"I've set up a search filter where anything relating Nazi Germany and/or Soviet Russia to the rest of Europe will come up. So far, nothing except old discussions about World War Two. I sent out a mass text, but it keeps bouncing back- something's blocking it from being sent! How's Finland?"

"Bad," was Norway's reply. "Apparently Nazi's sadist sister got to him in the dungeons and whipped him like he stole something."

"Sounds about right," said Kaiser Germany. He had found an armchair near the fire, and was thinking while puffing on his pipe. "Also, I would look at some of the countries that Nazi and Soviet Russia took over." He raised his eyebrows as if he was dropping a hint, but sighed disappointed.

"Wait a minute," Sweden said. "I think I've got it!" As if to confirm his thinking, his search filter pinged. Sweden read the article title, then broke out in a big grin.

"Guys," he said proudly, "look at this: 'Poland and Hungary Announce 'Pact of Eastern European Nations Sovereign Against Anti-Russo-German Aggression'."

Norway whistled. "One of these days, they'll figure out concise treaty names," he said. "Let's give Poland a call, eh?"

* * *

Poland happened to be busy.

"Hey, Poland, we got two Ruskie birds about two minutes from here," Hungary called down on a walkie-talkie. "They're not exactly trying to hide. They might be drones."

Poland replied, "Gotchu, Hungary. Continue scan and determine purpose. Also, what's the status of our neighbors?"

"Lithuania might join us if Latvia falls," Hungary replied. "Estonia's on her way to the Nordics to see if they'll let her in. Annnnd Latvia has fallen. Beginning to sweep for invasion force."

"And how are the Nordics holding up?"

"I'm gaining intelligence that they've eradicated Nazi Germany's camp from the Nordic House. Wait. I'm getting a call from Sweden."

"Put it on speakerphone, Hungary."

"Hello? Hello?" came Sweden's voice. "Poland, are you there?"

"This is Hungary," Hungary replied. "Poland's listening on speakerphone."

"Oh, at least you're safe! We got captured by Nazi Germany, but we were able to rout him out here. The House isn't safe, though; we need a new base. We thought that you might be able to help." Poland smiled.

"Sweden," he said, "you called at just the right time. Who's with you?" Sweden listed everyone. Poland paled a little at Kaiser Germany's name, but said, "We have enough beds and space for you guys, so come on down to Warsaw and we'll talk." Hungary hung up and returned to his darkened room full of electronics.

* * *

"We're going to Poland's," Sweden announced. There were cheers all around, before they abruptly stopped when someone knocked at the door. They weren't sure how to answer, especially after just getting ransacked by Nazi Germany.

But they were very certain how to when they heard someone call: "Guys? It's Estonia. Can I come in?"

"All in favor of hiding and pretending we're not home?" Sweden said in a hushed voice. "Aye!" squeaked Denmark as he ran into a corner. But Norway had already let her in. He knew that something was happening and that she should come inside; even though he hated her, he wasn't one to let people get murdered because he ignored them, much less by Soviet Russia.

"Ah, it's nice and warm in here!" she said, then frowned as she looked around. "God, what happened here?" "The long and short of it is that we got ransacked by Nazi Germany," Sweden said irritably. "What are you doing here?"

Estonia looked mildly put off, but she responded, "Didn't Poland tell you that I was coming?"

"Wait, _Poland _sent you here?" Norway replied, suddenly interested.

"Well, yes, after Soviet Russia took Latvia and surrounded Lithuania," Estonia said. "Lithuania has joined Poland, I think. You guys are the only holdouts left who have been hit by conflict."

She blushed and started to giggle. "Does this mean that I'm, um, you know," she said, by now giggling uncontrollably, "Nordic?" Sweden rolled his eyes and said, "Norway, I'm afraid this is your call."

Norway groaned. Sometimes being the leader came with uncomfortable decisions. "Yeah, sure, but don't count on it lasting after the war." Estonia squealed louder than a fangirl and latched herself onto Norway.

"Urgh," Norway gurgled. He tried to extract himself from Estonia's boa constrictor-worthy hug.

"_WAR?" _Sweden yelled at him, shaking Norway with every word. "We. Are. Not. At. _WAR!" _

Looking upon this scene, Kaiser Germany asked Iceland, "Again, I ask. Is this normal?" Iceland replied, "This? Eh. Yeah. Makes me sometimes wish it was the Scandinavian Council. Speaking of which, where's Denmark?" Sister Sweden looked around, and around again. She frowned.

She wasn't the _complete _naive, simple blonde the others assumed her to be; that title was deserving of Sister America. She was intuitive and knew when something was afoul, and when a poking around every store of beer she could find showed no Denmark, she went upstairs to look around for him. Maybe he was rooting around Sweden's office for a stray bottle, or heaving his guts out in the bathroom. However, neither place yielded him.

She was about to give up when she heard voices from a bedroom. And one of those voices sounded familiar. She put her ear to the door, which was open a crack.

* * *

Viewpoint switch to Denmark, because it helps explain a few things.

When this whole ordeal started, the reason you (the reader) haven't heard much out of Denmark is because Denmark was, well, not really in a state of mind to be doing any thinking.

He wasn't drunk, he was _tanked_.

Most of the aforementioned events happened like a blur to him. But what _didn't_ happen like a blur was when he stumbled up the stairs and found his two colonies having some alone time, Greenland sniffing next to Faroe's blood-spattered, unconscious body.

Even though both of them hated him, and even though their parent country was pissed as a newt, it was a watershed moment for the two conscious countries. For the Inuit, it was greeted by at first anger.

"What're you doing here?" Greenland said brusquely. Denmark didn't respond.

He wasn't exactly thrilled to see Denmark then; then again, he wasn't thrilled to see him _period_. But now was an especially uncomfortable time, with his best friend not in great shape. In fact, the last person he wanted to see was Denmark. That's when Greenland snapped.

"I said, _WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?" _Greenland yelled. He shoved Denmark a little. Denmark remained standing, swaying a little, then hiccupped. "You disgust me," Greenland spat, pulling Denmark towards him.

"All you do is drink and party. You don't seem to care about anybody else except Norway. You just do what you want, all the time! And then you come home and start bullying Faroes and I around! What did we ever do to you? Nothing! It's been pissing us off, and now, I'm done!" Denmark squinted, then slurred, "Have ya been drinkin' again?" In a very quiet voice, Greenland said, "I'm perfectly sober. You, however, are not." And with that, he pushed Denmark away and added, "Now, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come inside?" Denmark looked at Greenland, then downstairs towards the arguing. He walked away for a couple of minutes, and returned sober (well, as sober as Denmark could be).

Greenland sighed, and Denmark understood.

* * *

Hence was the situation when Sister Sweden put her ear to the door.

She quietly tapped on the door and opened it a little to show who it was that was entering.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, then mentally slapped herself for asking such a basic and stupid question. Of course everything wasn't alright.

Greenland tried really hard not to erupt at Sister Sweden. Sure, he was short on temper today (well, more so than usual), but he barely knew Sister Sweden at all, and going off wouldn't help his reputation.

So he took a couple of very deep breaths and said, "It's okay. Faroes will live at least." And with that he cleared everyone out of the room. "Iceland will be here soon to check on him, and the last thing we need is more people. Shoo, shoo!"

Denmark and Sister Sweden left the room, and eyed each other carefully. "Why d'ya think he did that?" Denmark asked, scratching his head.

He then broke into a big grin and started to laugh. Sister Sweden raised her eyebrows and said, "I don't follow." "Isn't it obvious?" Denmark grinned. "They want some alone time!"

Sister Sweden rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, for the love of God, Denmark," but she broke a tiny smile in the corner of her mouth. "C'mon, you pervert, let's go downstairs," and she dragged a giggly Denmark down to the rest of the group.

* * *

Sweden apprehended the two. "You two weren't, you know… fooling around, were you?" Denmark looked like he was about to say something cheeky, but Sister Sweden beat him to it. "No, you geek," she said, looking at her brother reproachfully. "Besides, you're supposed to be busy." A

s if confirming what she was saying, Åland snuck up behind Sweden and said quietly, "Um, sweetie?" while stroking his back. "There's been a problem."

Sweden growled and wheeled around, only to see Sister Finland and Estonia in a drinking contest. Estonia had down two vodka bottles and was still standing, albeit while leaning on the table. Sister Finland was catching up.

_Underbar, _Sweden thought. _Right before we need to pack up and go._

"Alright, everyone!" Norway yelled, sensing that Sweden's face was telling him to do something drastic. "Pack up! We're leaving, right now!"

Norway bolted upstairs and quickly packed his rucksack. Everyone else, taken by surprise, rapidly shoved some things into various carry-ons.

Soon, an assembly of backpacks, rucksacks, duffel bags, and even handbags sat outside of the lodge. They had been able to clean most of Nazi Germany's filthy grime and residue.

Iceland and Greenland returned to the group, helping Finland and Faroes along respectively. Finland was in soft quilts, and Faroes looked pale and sickly, like he was perpetually nauseous.

"Roll call!" Norway called out. He was wearing his rucksack, with his fish placed atop his head.

"Norwegians!" He called out, "Here!" and so did his sister.

"Swedes!"

"Finns!"

"Danes and Danish Territories!"

"Icelanders!"

"Estonia!" An enthusiastic "Here!" was the reply.

"Alright, looks like we're good to go. Now, Poland said he would send transportation up here sometime soon." He looked frustratedly around. Then they heard the _whunk-whunk-whunk _of an old airplane. Sure enough, a very sketchy-looking plane landed, and out stepped...

An old guy who looked like one of those people whose hair went white, but that was about it. He was perfectly tanned and toned, but with frizzy white Einstein hair and facial hair that would make Russia jealous. He wore a flag consisting of blue, white, and red horizontal bars with a nice big red star in the middle.

Yugoslavia had come.

"'Sup, Nordics?" he said. Sweden looked at the nation incredulously.

"Aren't you Yugoslavia?" he asked. "Aren't you the picture boy for neutrality? Then what are you doing taking us to Poland?"

Yugoslavia laughed. "I _am _neutral, Blondie," he guffawed. "But I owed Poland a refund for the Yugo. He didn't want a new one, but said that he could hold me to a favor. Unfortunately for him, I died. When I awoke again, he called me up and reminded me. So, here I am. Now get on the plane, Norskies, or that damn Polack will have my hide."

As they flew to Poland's forest home near Warsaw, Norway thought about how much weirder this adventure could be.

Of course, the party was only just getting started.

* * *

_The next chapter will explore Central European relations._

_Poland is much like the Sweden of Central Europe. He is the economic and political power of the group. Hungary is Poland's best friend, and is also a big player in Central European politics (much to the consternation of others, as you'll see later). Also, Poland has recently joined NATO, and a lot of weapons and defenses have been built in Poland in response to the recent Russian annexations. A lot of Soviet equipment was left in Hungary._

_Yugoslavia was, indeed, neutrality's picture boy, a communist nation that catered to both Stalin and the West. Croatia is famed for its beaches and sun, so I always pictured Yugoslavia as a more tanned and tame counter to Soviet Russia._

_The Yugo was an attempt by Yugoslavia to construct a national car, sort of like Germany's Volkswagen. Unfortunately, it was horribly constructed and wrecked easily, becoming a joke in the auto community._

_Yugoslavia (and much of Eastern Europe) hold a negative view of Poland, hence Yugoslavia calling him the derogatory term 'Polack'._


	7. Poland's Tale

When they landed in Warsaw, it was morning. Poland and Hungary were there to meet them, dressed in winter hats and parkas. The Nordics had, of course, prepared for snow, but not dressed for it.

With a wave and a wink, Yugoslavia headed south and left every Nordic and their kid on the tarmac with Poland. "Hey guys, thanks for coming!" he said. "Why don't we get inside the terminal so you can change into something warmer?"

Once freshly dressed for the snow and cold, Poland gave them the lowdown.

"So here's the schedule for today," he said, handing out pieces of paper. "We're going to get your gear into your rooms at my place and feed you breakfast. Then, I'm going to give you guys a tour of Krakow, which will include lunch. After that is break time until dinner, and then we'll have a war council to discuss what's going to happen. Sound like a day?" Everyone nodded. "Cool," Poland replied.

* * *

They walked the forest path to get to Poland's house. The Nordics knew something was happening, because Poland pulled out his phone and started tapping away. As he did, they heard small electronic noises coming from all around them, as if he was deactivating something.

Once they cleared the forest, they reached Poland's house, but the Wall of Troy happened to be in their way.

"Holy shit," Denmark said.

Surrounding Poland's place was a massive circular wall of metal about 50 feet high.

"It's moly steel, a combo of molybdenum and regular steel," Poland said proudly. "It can withstand much, much higher temperatures and damage than regular steel can." Mounted into the wall were machine gun ports and grenade launchers every three feet or so. They entered the house through a tiny hatch in the ground, and inside the fenced-in area were several tanks and missile launchers, as well as a huge trebuchet.

"Hungary still had some old Soviet tanks commandeered during the 1956 revolution," Poland said. "I supplied the rest… with some help." A fleeting look of nervousness ran across his face, then vanished. "Bah," he said, shaking his head. "Let's get you guys settled in and fed."

Entering the house, they were treated to a large thermal pool built-in the ground with couches and tables around it. "Hungary's idea," Poland said. Hungary nodded. "Our baths are to us like saunas are to Finland," he said, nodding towards Finland, who, in the midst of his pain, managed to agree with a noncommittal grunt.

There were several nations relaxing in the thermal bath, several that the Nordics possibly recognized from the last United Nations General Assembly, but didn't know.

Poland led them underground through a tunnel and pushed aside a square space, making the rest of the group think he was putting them in the attic. When they saw where they were staying, the first reaction was Denmark exclaiming, "Cool! Just like summer camp!"

It was a long hallway with several rooms that contained two bunk beds each, as well as closets and dressers. And on each door were four names. "Oh no," Sweden squeaked. "Room assignments."

**Room One**: Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland

**Room Two: **Iceland, Greenland, Faroe Islands, Kaiser Germany

**Room Three: **Scania, Christiania, FennoSwede, Kven

**Room Four: **Germany, Sister Norway, Sister Denmark, Sister Sweden

**Room Five: **Åland, Sister Finland, Sister Iceland, Estonia

These were met with varying reactions.

"Aw, come on!" Scania cried out. "I'm stuck babysitting two hyper nuts and a stoner?" as the kids ran in screaming "TOP BUNK! DIBS ON TOP BUNK!"

Germany winced as Sister Denmark tugged lightly on his hair. "Oh, calm down, it'll be fun," she purred.

The assignment for Room Two was well-received, surprisingly. The three Arctic nations were with Kaiser Germany, whom everyone at this point was starting to respect.

The Room One group high-fived each other, as it would be the four Musketeers again.

Sister Sweden pulled Poland aside and whispered, "I've got a sensitive cargo that needs a tight storage space." She told him what it was, and he paled dramatically before pulling himself together. "Alright, I think I've got a space," he said, "but you'll have to follow me." Sister Sweden returned from her assigned room with a large duffel bag.

Poland led her deep into the bowels of his newly constructed fortress and pointed at a hole with a heavy metal lid. "That should do," he said. Sister Sweden dumped the contents of the bag into the hold, properly stored. The lid slammed shut with a finality.

Then Sister Sweden caught Poland staring at her eyes. And he actually was looking into her eyes, not her… eyes.

It was as if he was trying to unlock some secret she held with his mind. "Um… Poland?" she asked politely.

Poland was mesmerized by the almost electric blue her eyes were, like they were magnetic or something. Poland snapped out of it, blushing redder than his old flag. "Oh, sorry. I was just, er, staring into space." Sister Sweden smiled a little. "Aw, it's okay. You can tell me."

Poland, still red, said, "Well, I have, uh, never eyes so blue as yours before." He fidgeted.

Sister Sweden laughed hard. "Oh, that's cute! Hey, I don't really know you. Since you're in charge of this whole shebang, why don't we talk later? Introduce ourselves."

"Oh, sure," Poland said, squirming. "Uh, can we go back, um, upstairs now?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in the realm of the living, Poland took them to the large room they had been in. He served them breakfast and said, "I'll give you a chance to clean up before we leave for our day trip."

Musing over his _faworki_, Sweden kept trying to think of why Poland was being so hospitable, especially in the middle of two countries who had previously had him for lunch. But he decided that maybe Poland knew what he was doing for once, and resolved to play the day by ear.

In the meantime, he looked at the motley assortment of countries that Poland and Hungary had assembled.

Besides them, there were two twin teenagers, one guy and the other a girl. The guy looked like a more well-groomed and well-dressed Germany, and the girl looked like Sister Finland had decided to go goth (with longer hair). They were both fighting.

There was also Lithuania, dismal as usual, and two twenty-somethings. One looked outdoorsy and had a hiking pack, and the other was as tanned as Yugoslavia, held a fishing rod and a bucket that held a perpetual supply of fish. He had spiky black hair and facial scruffle, like he had just shaved. They were laughing and eating seafood.

"So, it's this group against the world?" Norway said to Sweden. "Well, we'll just have to trust that Poland knows what he's doing. This doesn't resemble the Allied Powers at all." Sweden responded, "No, it doesn't. It's stronger."

Norway nearly choked on his pastry. "Stronger?" he asked. "Yes, stronger," Sweden said. "The Allies were relatively weak in the beginning. I bet that Poland is assembling us as a power chip over the West; as you'll remember, England and France didn't exactly help Poland while he was being dismembered."

Norway nodded. "Point conceded," he said. "But this group looks caustic, like one little thing gone wrong will blow up the entire system."

They finished their breakfasts and reported to the front room at the time that Poland had specified.

* * *

Soon, Poland arrived, conducting a high-speed train. "Woah, Poland," Sister Norway mused. "You must've put something together to make this happen." Poland laughed. "You kidding? I've had these for years." He put everyone on board and said, "Next stop, Krakow! Be sure to exchange your money at the station, Norskies, your kroner won't work here." And in a short period of time, they found themselves in… woah.

* * *

Krakow was nothing that the Nordics expected. This was Poland at his prime, albeit several hundred years ago. They duly exchanged their kroner for zloty, then were told by Poland to go explore on their own for two hours.

Sweden and Åland went to the Jagiellonian Library to peruse the 4 million volumes, then proceeded to barnstorm every museum in the city.

The Norwegians went to Wawel Hill.

The Finns and Estonia found themselves exploring Poland's spirits, and everyone else was enjoying the parks, forgetting what century they were in until they saw the occasional college student with an iPhone. Finally, the appointed time came and they met back with Poland in Main Market Square.

"Alright, time for lunch!" Poland said. He led them down roads and alleys until they came to an unsightly little building with a sign that read _bar mleczny._

"Uh, Poland?" Norway asked warily. "We're not eating in _there_, are we?" Poland replied, "Of course we are!" They walked in, and were treated to a facility in drab grey and steel, albeit clean.

It smelled wonderful, like Russia's food that wasn't prepared while he was drunk. "This is where you can experience my food best!" he announced.

The Nordics looked at the primitive setting incredulously. "Are you sure about this?" Denmark asked. "You know about my food restrictions." "Oh, shut up," Sweden said. "You're just a finicky eater."

Poland walked up to the attendant and spoke to her in rapid Polish. She looked at the Nordics, then at him, and nodded. "You guys are going to have a culinary trip," Poland said. "A little bit of everything." Soon, bowls and plates of Polish food appeared. "Grab whatever seems good," he said.

Norway took a plate of pierogi. Sweden tucked into some dill soup. Denmark tried the borscht. Everyone tried a different delicacy, and everyone seemed to be taken by surprise. They were not prepared for this.

After eating a large fill of Eastern European comfort food, the tabs were passed around, and they were amazed by how cheap the whole affair was. Being from the North, dining out was an ungodly expensive affair; nearly every Nordic ate at home 364 days a year. In Poland, the tab for each country was about 2 euros.

Feeling like pythons, the Nordics thanked Poland for the food and the trip.

Everyone went back to the Polish Fortress and attempted to sleep it off until dinner. The whole group was plain pooped. Norway hugged a fish like a teddy bear. Denmark was half off the bunk with one shoe on. Germany slept in a position that most people couldn't if they tried.

There was one, however, who wasn't sleepy.

Sister Sweden crept out of the room she was in. A hard feat, considering that Sister Norway had flopped down in the middle of the floor and was in the fetal position sucking her thumb.

She had agreed to meet Poland in the small garden he had out back.

It overlooked the Tatras Mountains in the distance, with plenty of wildlife. It made Sister Sweden think of Norway's countryside. It was a pretty little garden, containing mostly inedibles; there were a few "cold foods" such as beets, potatoes, and dill. The assortment of flora was similar to what he saw in England's gardens, lots of color, especially red and yellow. Over near the forest, he had planted specific plants to attract deer so he could watch them.

"Pretty garden," Sister Sweden mused to herself.

"You think so?" Poland said.

Sister Sweden jumped. "Oh, sorry," Poland apologized. "I just arrived." He sat down on the opposite side of the bench Sister Sweden was sitting.

"It's okay, I don't bite!" she said. Poland eyed her warily, then scooted about two inches closer. As she looked at him, she noticed something was different about him. Was it the shirt? No, it was the same white-and-red bicolor. Same pants, same hair. Then what was it that was different? Then she realized. She could see his whole face, his brown eyes, like a doe.

"Poland, you're not wearing your mask!" she said, finally catching on.

"Yeah, I thought it would be best, you know," he said. His heart was pounding. "Alright, then," Sister Sweden said. She turned to face him. "So, what do you like to do?" she asked. He fidgeted with something in his hand.

"Uh… nothing much," he said nervously. " I role-play a lot."

"Oh, really?" Sister Sweden said. "Maybe you could ask the boys if you could jump in one of their Dungeons and Dragons parties."

"Oh no, I don't do that," Poland said. "I role-play scenes out of Lord of the Rings by myself." He sounded really embarrassed, but Sister Sweden found it sweet. "Neat!" she said.

"Yeah, I like to be a dwarf," he said, warming up a little. "I pretend the elves are Russian," he said with a small smile.

"I really like Tolkien's stuff. I like fantasy in general, even though I was told not to read it when I was younger. I own all sorts of fantasy crap, including my prized possession- the first one-volume edition of Lord of the Rings that I got off the black market."

Sister Sweden thought, _what a nerd_.

"What's that in your hand?" she asked, pointing to the small object he was fingering.

"Oh, this?" he said, the smile disappearing quickly. He held a small ceramic four-leaf clover. "It was a birthday gift from Ireland. One of the two gifts I got that year. The other was a bottle of vodka from Hungary. Ireland and I share the same good-luck charms, so.. yeah."

Sister Sweden said, "Oh come on, other people must remember your birthday!" She immediately regretted saying that.

Poland started sniffling. "Well, no, not really," he said. "Hungary's really my only friend. Ireland remembered solely because he got a Facebook notification saying so."

"People still make fun of me. They still call me 'the dumb Polack' and other names. Some countries still push me around just because. Some even forget that I exist, or that I'm independent now. I've gotten 'Commie bastard' more times recently than I can count, and I'm a member of NATO!" He put his head in his hands. And that's when he started spilling.

"When I became independent, I started stealing things, mostly cars. I could never afford them before, and so it just sort of lead to that. I still went to Mass and did confession, but it wouldn't stop, even when I tried to will myself to."

"I asked Vatican what to do, but nothing seemed to work. He suggested I get medical help. I went to Austria about a week ago; he's my psychologist, you know. He diagnosed me with severe depression and PTSD, as well as kleptomania. He knew that America's antidepressants would only make it worse, so he encouraged me to plant a garden. So I did." He waved to the beautiful garden. "I planted certain ones near the forest so I can see the deer. And that's my therapy. Whenever I feel something coming on, I'm supposed to go into my garden."

"It works sometimes, but you know, not every time. A couple of days before you guys showed up, I thought the worst thoughts…" he started to cry a little, and Sister Sweden felt a pit open in her gut. She knew what he meant.

She felt a mixture of sadness for Poland and anger at the other countries for treating Poland poorly. She also felt really guilty- she hadn't exactly been kind to him before.

"That's why I built all of this." He waved to the gargantuan wall and military equipment that surrounded his house. "It initially was to protect myself against Russia, but it was also to protect the world from me. If I hide, maybe I won't steal and maybe people won't be mean to me anymore."

He completely fell apart, lapsing into long sobs.

Now Sister Sweden felt sick to her stomach. Countries usually weren't mean to each other; they razzed each other sometimes, sure, but Poland was being outright _bullied_.

Certainly to Sister Sweden, she felt that if a person was barricading himself inside his own house so people weren't mean to you, that was a bad sign.

And it wasn't just pushing-on-the-playground bullying. He was having suicidal thoughts because of this. Sister Sweden suddenly felt very angry.

_It needed to end_, she thought, and she resolved right then and there to militantly be Poland's friend.

But then she felt something in her gut, and no, it wasn't lunch.

It was love, and she tried to put out the candle before it could get going. She didn't feel love as much as she made it. In fact, she had never really felt true love for anyone before.

Poland said, "So, enough about me. What do you do in your spare time?"

Poland, being devoutly religious, was oblivious to a seemingly obvious answer.

Sister Sweden squirmed. "Uh, I'm in entertainment," she said, mildly uncomfortable.

"Oh, really? Do you make movies?" Even more uncomfortable, she said, "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Poland seemed satisfied, thank God. "Oh, okay."

The questions got more benign- what was it like living with Sweden? What were the other Nordics like? Questions like that.

Then came a whopper.

"Sounds like you get along pretty well with others," Poland said. "Yeah, pretty well," Sister Sweden replied.

"So, who do you go to when you're feeling down?" Poland asked. Sister Sweden responded, "I go to one of my friends. Usually Sister Norway."

"Is there anyone you love? Like, anyone you would devote your whole life to?"

The question hit Sister Sweden like a Mack truck.

She thought hard on that.

Truth is, she had avoided that for a long time. Settling down was, well, weird. It was a bizarre thought to her. "Uh… no, not really," she said. "My job doesn't really allow that to happen."

Poland said sincerely, "Oh. Sorry if I intruded on your personal life." Sister Sweden shook her head. "It's okay, Poland." She noticed he was still crying a little.

"Hey, hey hey," she said, taking his hand. "I'm here, okay? If you need someone to cry to, I'll always be available for you, okay?" Poland nodded, and they shared a hug.

"Hey, here's a crazy thought," Poland said. "This is kinda weird, but do you want to go to Mass with me tomorrow? It's the first Sunday in Advent and I always go alone…"

The question took Sister Sweden by surprise. "I'm… not really a church person," she said. "Norway is, though. Why don't you ask him?" Poland said, "Okay, I will." With that, he ran into the house.

Sister Sweden looked after him, smiling. She didn't know quite yet if it was love. Only time would tell. But she couldn't wait to take a hot bath.

When she got out, she beelined it for the thermal bath. And when she got there, she was treated to a scene that seemed to confirm all of Norway's fears.

* * *

The guy who looked like a cleaner version of Germany was screaming and holding his head. "AAAUUUGH!" he yelled. "DON'T COME OUT!" His twin sister, the goth chick, was yelling at a sheepish Hungary. "See what you did?" she said. "Now we have to deal with this disaster!"

Too late. A new figure sprung from the other kid's head! "Well, look who it is," he said. He looked like Germany had decided to take up farming. Also, he smelled like he'd been around too many pigs.

The goth chick groaned. "Ugh. Moravia, we _told _you that we don't like you around. I thought Dr. Freud dealt with you." The farmer, apparently named Moravia, chuckled. "Ah, Slovakia, pleasant as always. Well, my dear, that nerd Austria didn't take into account that Bohemia over here would start having split-personality disorder. See, he thought I was just a leftover from Bo-heep's little traumatic experience, not his, er, self. Now that I've caused enough trouble, toodle-oo, tootsies!"

And with that, Moravia vanished, leaving the other guy whimpering in the fetal position.

"It's okay, Czech Republic," Slovakia said. "The bad man's gone now." The kid ran crying from the room.

"You know, one of my friends was wondering what Poland was thinking, bringing this caustic group together," Sister Sweden said, stepping out of the shadows and scaring everyone present. She took her dress off and went to soak in the thermal bath. "But I think we should trust his moves."

"So he's assembled a schizophrenic bourgeois, a goth, and an eccentric. Who were the other two?" Hungary said, "Slovenia and Croatia. Former parts of Yugoslavia who like to chill up here rather than with, you know, Commie Face in the East. They spent time with Italy and Austria, so they appreciate our culture as well. Some of the time," he added, glaring at Slovakia.

"Hey, you're just a dick for no reason!" Slovakia retorted. "It's not like I've done anything to you!" Hungary coughed, "coughTRIANONcoughcough." "Hey, that wasn't me, that was that bitch France and her compadres!" she said. "Don't blame me for your losses!"

"Hey, hey, hey, let's calm the hell down now," said a nervous Sister Sweden. Just then, there was a crash outside. "Never mind," she said, rapidly getting dressed to see what it was.

She wasn't the only one. Poland had heard it too, and ran outside.

* * *

It was a plane. It hadn't damaged anything. "I was monitoring the skies," Poland said. "I felt that something was coming, and I turned out to be right."

He brushed away some debris, then froze. His heart rate swelled, and he leaned on the wing to stop himself from fainting.

_No. No, no, no, no, no!_ he thought. _This cannot be happening! _

"Poland, is everything alright?" Sister Sweden asked, putting her hand in his shoulder. It was a friendly gesture; she had warmed up to him considerably and found him to be a good friend.

"No, no. Everything's gone wrong. Everything's gone wrong," he mumbled, hiding away tears and ran into the house.

Sister Sweden tried to see what had Poland frantic. Then _she _froze.

On the side of the plane, plain as day, was stenciled:

U.S AIR FORCE.

* * *

_Faworki is a Polish pastry._

_Ah, the Central European nations. Czech Republic is the bourgeois Germany, since a lot of Austria's culture went there but retained a German flavor. Moravia is the eastern part of the Czech Republic and is much more agrarian and rural; Bohemia is where the culture is, in the west. The two halves disagree often._

_Slovakia is seen as a moody teenager who doesn't get along with anyone, especially Hungary; Slovakia has a substantial Hungarian minority, and their treatment often leads to harsh words between the two nations._

_Slovenia has lots of mountains and forests, so I always saw him as an outdoorsy Southern counterpart to Norway._

_Croatia is famed for it's beaches and seafood, so I made him an enthusiastic fisherman who also likes to go outdoors._

_Wawel Hill is to Poland what Canterbury or Westminster Abbey is to England: it's home to Poland's most important church and the graves of Poland's most important individuals._

_Milk bars are dirt cheap places to eat in Poland, mostly left over from the Communist era. They're still subsidized by the government, and it is possible to get a very filling meal for 4 euros. The Nordics are amazed because since taxes and living is so costly, it is very hard to get a meal in a Nordic restaurant for less than 15 euros._

_I'm trying to spend more time thinking out my plots, so chapters may take longer to write. (1/5)_


	8. Good Friends Do

Sister Sweden looked frantically for Poland, high and low. Hungary, Norway, and her brother helped.

She was afraid for him, especially after their conversation in the garden. She was afraid that he might try to harm himself, or worse… no. No, no, she tried to put that thought out of her head.

"Poland?" Hungary yelled. "He might've gone to his room," Norway said.

"In that case, we better leave him be," Hungary said.

"_Isten_, I worry for him sometimes. He's not exactly in a right state. Sister Sweden, you better make sure he's okay," he said. "I would, but I'm also his second-in-command in this little group of his, and I need to organize some stuff. Otherwise, Soviet Russia might decide to take us back to the good ol' days."

Sister Sweden frowned. "Soviet Russia?" she said, puzzled. "Why not Nazi Germany?"

Hungary looked at Norway, who understood Hungary's expression.

Then Hungary leaned close to Sister Sweden and said quietly, "Never test the Russian Bear, _drága_, for when pushed, he rears up, roars, then kills mercilessly. Trust me. I would know." Then he turned and left.

Sister Sweden noticed something she hadn't seen before- a red line, like a scar, on the back of Hungary's shoulder. She called, "Hungary, what's that mark on your shoulder?"

With a face showing no humor, he replied, "I awoke the bear." Then he left to go herd everyone into the house, leaving Sister Sweden thinking.

She wasn't dumb. She knew basic strategics; she was Sweden's sister, after all, and had often humoured him by playing chess.

Although she wasn't nearly as good at it as Sweden, she could still confidently play every other nation that did and probably win.

She knew that Nazi Germany had tried to put them in check, but was blocked. Now, they were awaiting his move.

But any good chess player thinks several moves in advance, and that's what Sister Sweden started to do.

But first, she had to check on her friend.

* * *

Poland ran into his room, shut the door, and cried.

He knew that everyone hated him. The only reason that this little group of countries was working was because the Nordics were glueing the whole thing together. His only true friend was Hungary, and they didn't see each other as much as they used to.

Everyone else was a sunny-day friend, and he knew that his enemies were all around. Nobody ever asked him about his problems or worries. He lacked somebody who he could just spill to, say everything that was on his mind.

And now America was sending things after him. He and America were already not the best of friends; he found America rude, and knew of all the jokes he told behind Poland's back. What confused him even more was that America had sent him money to arm himself against Russia not that long ago. Why was he suddenly turning on him?

Then there was the matter of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, who he knew were just itching to invade him again. He had an altercation with Nazi Germany not that long ago; that's why he shut himself inside his own homemade fortress and called upon other countries who didn't want to become Nazi's slaves again.

And then there was Sister Sweden.

Oh, God.

Sure, she was pretty. But then again, everyone thought she was. And, he thought, she was also clever, smart, sweet, had a cute laugh- wait. Uh oh.

No. He could not be falling for her. No no no.

The last relationship he was in was awful. He was an asshole to his significant other, and since then, he had abstained from even romantically liking anyone.

He cried some more, then looked about his room, full of stuff from the 'good old days': a sword, a helmet. He dusted off an old black-and-white photo and sucked in his breath. In it was him with his large crown, holding Lithuania in his arms. They both looked very happy. He collapsed again.

He picked up his old sword and dusted it off. Engraved in the blade was _Si Deus nobiscum quis contra nos_; _If God is with us, then who is against us_, the old motto he and Lithuania had.

He thought on that. He had always been faithful to God, but after his breakup, he began to have doubts as to whether God was on his side. Being a slave to four countries had sapped him of a lot of faith; only towards the end of his servitude under Soviet Russia did he begin to have faith again.

But now, it seemed, God had deserted him again. He had enemies all around, and he didn't trust most of the people he had gathered as much as he could throw them.

He looked at his sword, once his tool of power over Eastern Europe, but now just a dusty relic with no use. _Just like me, _he thought. _With no use._

He rested the point on his chest.

* * *

After about 30 minutes, she started to worry about him a lot more.

Sister Sweden had a creeping suspicion. She ran upstairs to Poland's room. Peeking through a crack in the door, the scene made her scream.

Poland was holding a sword to his chest.

* * *

Then he heard a scream, a loud bang, and then a flying tackle pinned him on his bed.

A strong arm had him in a headlock against the mattress. In between gulps and gasps of breath, he heard a grunting- definitely feminine.

"Don't you _fucking dare _commit suicide on me," said Sister Sweden. "I was just coming up and I see you about to run yourself through."

Poland opened his mouth to start saying something, but Sister Sweden interrupted him. She grabbed him firmly and said, "Look at me." He did as he was told. "Look into my eyes." What most people saw when they looked into Sister Sweden's eyes was… oh hell, whoever has looked at Sister Sweden's _eyes_?

But what Poland saw was someone who didn't have a firm grasp on what emotions they were feeling. Her eyes swam with anger, confusion, sadness, pain, and a whole bag of others that Poland didn't dare try to identify, lest he break his brain.

She was breathing heavily, as if to keep something in control. "Poland! Look into my eyes!"

"I already am," he said. _Careful, _he told himself. _Don't say anything stupid._

She looked into his eyes and said, "Poland, there are people out there who love you. They think you're swell. Even when you're battered and hewn, they'll go with you through hell." She wiped away some tears and laughed a little.

"Did… did you come up with that off the top of your head?" Poland said, impressed. Sister Sweden chuckled nervously and said, "Well, that's the funny thing." She was fidgeting badly, and he knew that she had come up with that little rhyme before.

He felt a little better… then felt scared again.

"Oh God, what have I done?" he moaned. "I have few resources, no army, and a bunch of nations who drink and bicker like none other for allies."

"Well, we can get started by going downstairs," Sister Sweden said.

* * *

When they went down the stairs, immediately people asked, "What were you doi-" "NOTHING," shouted Sister Sweden and Poland unanimously.

"We heard voices, and talking," Denmark said, as if accusing them of something. "So what?" Sister Sweden said. "We could've just bumped each other in the hall and had a conversation." "For an hour?" Sweden said, suspicious. "And did that 'bumping each other in the hall' involve screaming?"

Poland looked frantically for an excuse. "Uh, she saw a spider and screamed!" he said. "And then I came to get it, and-"

"Poland, you're as afraid of spiders as any girl," Slovakia said. "Uh, then, uh, she, then, uh," he desperately tried.

"Dude, whatever the excuse is, we're not buying it," Denmark said.

"Here's the truth," Sister Sweden said.

Everyone listened.

"Poland and I are dating."

Everyone gasped.

Poland went blue with fear. "Wha- What?" he stammered.

Sister Sweden grabbed him and pulled him into a rough kiss. When she pulled away, he gasped for breath.

"Quiet," she whispered. "It's only a ruse!" Poland calmed down significantly.

All of the female Nordics went "Awwwww!" Slovakia rolled her eyes, and Lithuania just went back to her sulking corner.

Hungary clapped, and did Czech Republic. Germany slapped Poland on the back, and Kaiser Germany said, "FINALLY!"

Slovenia and Croatia were out of the house.

The Nordic men, however, were a different story.

Norway raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Denmark's mouth hung open in shock, as did Sweden's.

Finland dropped his knife and vodka. He surprisingly didn't feel angry. He didn't feel like killing Poland- after all, Polish _wódka _was actually quite good- or Sister Sweden; after all, she was right in that it was her life choice. I guess that the only emotion to describe Finland was disappointment. After all, who was going to be his mistress?

Amidst the chaos, Sister Sweden and Poland sneaked up to the electronics room.

* * *

"What the heck was that?" Poland said indignantly as he closed the door. Only the green from the radar screens illuminated the room; the desk was covered in sticky notes, with Hungarian scribbled all over them.

"They were smelling blood, Poland. They wanted to hear something, and I just blurted it out!" Sister Sweden said.

She facepalmed herself. _What had she done? _Poland certainly wasn't ready for a relationship. He didn't want one, at least yet. And Sister Sweden still wasn't sure about how she felt about the whole matter.

_Well, it's time for me to make my move_, she thought.

"Look, we're _officially _just friends for now, okay?" she said, holding Poland's hand.

"Do friends hold hands like this all the time?" Poland said, incredulous and wary. "Sorry, I'm just afraid of... physical... ness."

"Good ones do," Sister Sweden said softly. "Come on, let's get dinner going."

* * *

_Poland and Lithuania were once a single, powerful nation in the late Renaissance period._

_I really, really like the Sister Sweden x Poland ship. I don't know why, I just do._

_UPDATE: I added a ton of more detail to this and the last chapter. It was necessary to build up their relationship and personalities. Sure, it's shorter, but contains more substance this time._

_Isten is Hungarian for God; drága is 'dear'._


	9. Dinner and a Tryst

Hungary had already started on dinner.

"Sorry, guys, but the others were starting to mutiny," he said. "So I decided to make some goulash." He pointed to a kettle that contained orange-red pieces of meat that used to be lamb chops.

Hungary took a deep breath. "Hmm, needs more paprika," he said. He took out a massive bag of red powder and added two huge spoonfuls.

"Hungary, how much have you already put in there?" Sister Sweden said as he drowned the lamb chunks in powder.

"Only about five spoonfuls," he said.

"Um, why doesn't Poland help with the food? It's getting later as we speak, and I don't know how tolerant everyone is of paprika," she said.

Hungary looked at her, disappointed. "Oh, I guess you're right," he said. He added a boat's worth of beef broth, then closed the lid.

"All yours," he said as he slinked out of the kitchen.

Poland sighed. "All right, let's see. What can I fix that's quick?"

He rummaged through his pantry and refrigerator, desperately looking for quick things to make.

"Let's see. No, pierogi take too long. Hungary's already got his soup." He scratched his head.

"I know! I could make beets!"

Sister Sweden looked at him like he was insane.

"What, have you never tried beets?" he asked, surprised.

"Uh… no," she said.

"Well, you haven't had beets until you've had my beets," Poland said proudly. Sister Sweden thought that he just liked saying the word _beets_. "Come on, I'll get some from the garden!"

Sister Sweden knew what beets were; she just wasn't familiar with them as food. So she had a pretty good idea of what to expect: a smallish, hard, and red ball.

But when Poland pulled a beet out of the ground the size of a softball, that image went away entirely.

"Now _this _is a beet," he said, holding the monstrous tuber by its stalk. "Let's see Russia try to grow one this big!" Having harvested several enormous beets, they went back inside.

Poland expertly chopped them, stuffed them into a pot, added a little water to steam them, and walked away.

"Alright, I got some beets steaming. Maybe I could make some lighter fare, like dill soup, to counter Hungary's goulash? Hm, that sounds nice." He frowned and looked at his pantry. "Maybe I could make a pasta," he thought. Digging around, he found a box of tortellini. "This'll do," he said, and put them on the stove. "There we go!" he said proudly to Sister Sweden.

"I've got soup, pasta, and beets. This'll be a nice dinner party!"

Like a dog being called, Sweden appeared. "Did someone say _dinner party_?" he asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Yeah, I did," Poland said. "Ooooh! Can I do place settings and name cards?" he insisted.

"Uh, sure," Poland replied, unaware of Sweden's dinner party fetish.

* * *

While Poland and Sister Sweden continued working on the food, Sweden grabbed some placards and got to work.

Of course, Poland and Sister Sweden would have to be at opposite ends of the table.

That way, he could study their "relationship". He felt that they were either joking or hiding something else.

He had laid out a pleasant table plan- Slovakia and Hungary were nowhere near each other, Sister Denmark was paired off with Germany just to make Germany uncomfortable, and Denmark would be between Sweden and Aland so as to make him feel awkward- but then noticed two empty spots on the table.

He looked down at his remaining cards.

Finland and Estonia.

Sweden giggled evilly.

* * *

He found the linens easily enough, and got to work with the place settings.

He was in a groove, or, as they say in athletics, 'in the zone'. He was folding napkins with perfect creases, lining up the silver parallel. Everything pointed in 180 degrees across from each other. The plates were oriented exactly the same direction. Now all that was left was for the food and drink.

So imagine his absolute horror when Poland came out of the garage with several cases of vodka.

Poland placed one bottle at each spot. Everyone got a container of vodka.

As Sweden looked on, horrified, Poland was whistling away some catchy little ditty. He brushed his hands off and went back to the kitchen.

Sweden looked at his immaculate table, with a medium-sized bottle of vodka everywhere. Was Poland secretly an alcoholic? Did he have any idea what he was doing? Did he know that those who preferred vodka brought their own? He decided to (politely) approach Poland to let him know of his error.

"Er, Poland? Can you come here for a sec?" Sweden called. Poland duly arrived.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Sweden pointed at the table. Poland frowned. "I don't understand," he said.

Sweden sighed and said, "Okay. I'm just letting you know that giving vodka to… certain individuals in our party would be a poor life choice," Sweden said. He could just imagine the nightmare that would ensue if Denmark and Norway got tanked on an entire bottle of vodka.

Poland's face fell a little. "Well, we don't have much else," he said.

Sweden sighed again. "Okay, um, how about this," Sweden said. "You take my sister and she'll tell you the particular drink that our people like. Where's the nearest grocery outlet?"

Poland said, "Warsaw."

"Good. Don't be long, and don't go unarmed," Sweden cautioned. Poland heeded his advice.

He looked outside; despite it being later in the year, the sun had about 45 minutes left on its shift.

"Hey, um, Sister Sweden?" he said.

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"We need to go to Warsaw to get drinks for everybody. Your brother suggested arming ourselves. Are you armed?"

Sister Sweden said, "Of course."

Poland looked around. "What is it? I don't see it."

"Just a riding crop," she said innocently, pulling it out of a discreet location. Poland winced, remembering the stings of Nazi Germany's crop. "Good," he said. He had a tiny little knife that he carried inside the lining of his pants pocket; that way, people had a tough time detecting it should he get caught by Nazi Germany.

* * *

They were walking in the woods, surrounded by Poland's protective shields and weapons. Plus, they were personally armed.

"I don't see why I needed to come," Sister Sweden said. "This forest creeps me out."

"Oh, it's not much further," he said.

Sure enough, when they emerged, they were on the edge of Warsaw, the skyline gleaming in the short distance.

A tall, stocky building with a point on top rose above all of the others. Sister Sweden noticed it.

"What's that building?" she asked, pointing to it.

"That?" Poland said distastefully. "Oh, that's Stalin's Cock."

Sister Sweden nearly died laughing. "I'm sorry, what?" she said, overcome with the giggles. How juvenile.

Poland said, "That's Stalin's Cock. You asked what it is."

She decided not to pursue that conversation. That was for another time.

They found an alcohol supply soon enough, and Sister Sweden helped guide Poland through the maze of gins, vodkas, beers, wines, and other legal intoxicants.

They picked out the specific kinds that each country would like- beer for Denmark, ale for Kaiser Germany, Unicum for Hungary (which had the most unfortunate name of any spirit, according to Sister Sweden), and so on.

They were about to leave when Sister Sweden turned around and gasped at the skyline. It was like Paris- only with snow, vodka and beets instead of sun, wine, and cheese.

And instead of the Eiffel Tower, there was… Stalin's, er… Syringe.

She sighed. Maybe someday, when there wasn't, like, you know, a war going on, maybe she and Poland could… she shook her head. _Now was not the time and place to be daydreaming_, she thought.

They had a mission- to get liquid libation back to Poland's house so they didn't have a riot on their hands. So they did just that.

* * *

Upon arriving, she noticed that it had gotten quite late for dinner.

Her inner Swede grumbled. She liked things to be on time, but she knew that with all of the craziness going on, she couldn't be too hard on her hosts. Especially since she was trying to manage her feelings towards one of them.

She looked out over the dinner settings.

Her brother had done a godly job, per usual. She looked over at the place settings he had constructed. Napkins creased beautifully; silver immaculate and tidy; the placements and tablecloth went together like bread and butter.

Then she saw the name cards.

She had always disliked Sweden's habit of using his own personal reasons for putting people together. Sure, she herself used him for her own benefit, but that happened a lot less often than you would think.

He had placed her and Poland at opposite ends. He had put Denmark far from Norway and in between Sweden and Åland.

She sighed. There was nothing she could do to change it, so she just went back to the kitchen to help Poland finish the food.

Poland had finished the dill soup, brought the goulash back down to simmer, and was ladling more butter than she really thought necessary over the pasta.

"What? I like butter," Poland said. She just sighed.

"I like the way you look," she said. He looked at her confused, then realized what she was trying to say.

"Ah. Well, at least Russia isn't here. He would've bathed this whole thing in sour cream as well…"

* * *

Dinner was great for some. Horribly awkward for others. And just plain weird for others.

It was great for people like Poland, who was placed next to Kaiser Germany.

They hit it off, even sharing drinks- although Poland found Kaiser Germany's ale too rustic and Kaiser found Poland's vodka, well, plain. They chatted endlessly about history and related nerdery.

It was also great for Iceland and Norway, who were paired with Slovenia and Croatia respectively.

Iceland and Slovenia talked endlessly about skydiving and mountain climbing. Iceland gave Slovenia better tips for skiing, and Slovenia gave Iceland some pointers about popular base camps near Ljubljana.

Norway and Croatia gabbed on about fish- Norway, being Lutheran, espoused the virtues of lutefisk, to which Catholic Croatia wrinkled his nose. The best way of eating fish, he claimed, was either in a risotto or off a stick, right out of the fire.

Oh my Lord, you've haven't heard two people talk so passionately about fish before until you've gotten to sit next to them, to which that distinct honor belonged was Greenland, who interjected every once in a while the best way to eat whale. Croatia looked aghast as the Inuit and Norway high-fived each other.

Others who benefited from Sweden's pairings were Sister Denmark and Czech Republic, who had an intense conversation on the subject of beer- the right formula, the right fermentation time, the right amount of everything. It turned a simple exchange on what beer was better into a full-on chemistry lesson for all involved. When Sister Denmark was informed by Czech Republic that beer in Prague was 2 euros as compared to 8 in Copenhagen, she damn near choked on her goulash.

Germany, meanwhile, was striking up a talk with Sister Norway, complaining about how he was strapped to the less-successful countries. She listened patiently (as per the Norwegian attitude), but quietly thought to herself, _Thank God I'm not in THAT club_.

Thus, Sweden was frustrated. He had intended for Sister Denmark to harass Germany like she had been doing, but apparently they were both behaving themselves.

* * *

It was not so great, however, for others.

Denmark had resolved to arrange a meeting between his fist and Sweden's face after dinner.

Not only had Sweden isolated him from his friends, he had to put up with Sweden and Åland giving each other little gestures and comments that were really starting to irk Denmark. He was lonely and frustrated, and ate his dinner in silence.

Sister Iceland was also having a difficult time. Sweden had put her next to Slovakia. Like any other conversation involving teenagers, it involved some one-to-three word answers, but mostly grunts.

However, none was in a more awkward position than Sister Sweden.

She was sandwiched between Faroes, who was more grumpy and morose than usual, and Finland, who was pretending to listen to Estonia while busy groping Sister Sweden under the table.

She tried to engage Faroes in conversation, but whenever she did, he would glare at her, then return tacitly to his soup. There was no point. It was like trying to have a civil discussion with a rock.

"So, how are you doing so far?"

Glare.

"Do you still hurt from the lodge?"

Grunt.

"Are you and Greenland more than friends?"

GLARE, mixed with Faroese curse word.

Meanwhile, Finland's hand slipped into Sister Sweden's nether regions. She had to remove it to prevent a scene at her friend's dinner party.

Finland looked disappointed, but when Sister Sweden made a tiny nod towards Poland, Finland understood but still didn't like it.

In the meantime, Estonia, by this point completely tanked, threw her arms around Finland and gave him a sloppy kiss. Then she loudly stood up and started towards her room, dragging Finland by the arm. When he protested, pointing to his half-finished dinner and vodka, Estonia let him go. He sat back down and finished his food.

When he finished, however, she literally picked him up and slung him over her shoulder. With plenty of perkeles, she carried him off.

He pleaded to Iceland to release a demon on her, but nobody understood what he was saying. They just assumed he was swearing.

Once they left, Scania scrambled for the open seat next to his mom, intent on leaving the kiddie table, where Christiania had ingested three bowls of goulash and five helpings of pasta and was now enjoying a toke.

FennoSwede and Kven had successfully managed to spill the paprika all over the table and were now playing in it like a sandbox.

As Denmark, Sweden and Norway went to go control their respective children, Scania perched himself next to his mom.

He reached for Finland's vodka bottle, but Sister Sweden gave him such a reproachful look that he cowered and meekly took some soup.

Once things settled down again, Sister Sweden glanced over at Poland.

He was still engaged in conversation with Kaiser Germany, but had grown visibly less happy than when they started.

She pursed her lips. _At least it hasn't completely devolved_, she thought.

She had assisted with setting up, so she took it for granted that helping with clean-up was also part of her duty, much to Poland's chagrin.

"You needn't help," he pleaded. "You're a guest and have done too much already; go, relax! I'm good here." He shooed her out of the kitchen.

Sister Sweden stood there for a moment, wondering what she could do.

Finland had been dragged off by Estonia- God knows what was happening there.

Everyone else was reading, drinking, typing, or bathing. So she decided to join in.

She grabbed a beer and a book and sat down next to her brother, who was doing something that seemed hard and involved lots of typing.

As she opened the beer, she couldn't help but think about the chess game that this conflict was. _We still need to make a move_, she thought. _Otherwise, our time will run out and he'll make another one_.

She kept that thought present, but didn't let it perturb her during her relaxation time.

* * *

Finland would've killed for a drink and a book.

Once she shut the door, Estonia suddenly perked up. "Oh, Finland," she said, tossing her hat onto a bed, revealing her long grey-black hair. A small smile broke the corner of her face. "Did you really think that I was drunk off my arse?"

Finland vigorously nodded to show that yes, yes he did.

He then got really distracted by the light reflecting off of her hair. _Did she condition it?_ he thought.

Then he started putting pieces together. Her hair, her behavior, the lighting, and a million other details.

Then the big one hit: she never, ever got drunk. She had an alcohol tolerance equivalent to Finland's.

Before he got the puzzle solved however, he noticed the decorum of the room they were in. It wasn't his room, because the flag blankets were wrong. Instead, he saw Estonia's bed, as well as his cousin's, and seeing Åland's flag scared him a little.

When he returned his gaze to Estonia, she had shed everything but a hot pink bra.

She swung a red crop around her hand.

Finland suddenly became aware of her intentions. Rather quickly, I might add.

The sad thing about the whole endeavor was that Finland actually thought Estonia looked kinda hot, somewhere between Sister Denmark and Sister Iceland.

She slinked towards him, and he back away slowly. "Oh, Finland, I love you. I love you so much, Finland. Let's just get this over with, or I might have to play dirty."

She pulled out tweezers, an electric flyswatter, and Carmex. Finland suddenly knew that she had gotten lessons from someone.

Oh no.

"Resistance is futile, _mon cher_," Estonia purred. "Come, let's behave like adults."

She pulled his shirt off, and nearly killed the atmosphere right there.

"AUGH!" she screamed. "What in the name of Vanapagan is all over your back?"

The whip marks that Sister Nazi Germany had left were almost healed, but they left a series of nasty scars all across Finland's back.

Finland scribbled a rough drawing of Sister Sweden, but with a swastika and frowny face.

Estonia's face dropped about five notches on the happy-o-meter. "Oh, well," she said with a grin. "It'll just be your behind that'll be sore."

Finland was nervous about whatever the hell was about to happen.

He had no idea where Estonia's deal came from; this just sort of dropped out of the air. Obviously she'd been planning it, but why? She couldn't even speak Swedish.

Oh, but she had a plan for that.

"Vy byli dovolno neposlushnyy segodnya, Finlyandiya," she said in perfect Russian, raising the crop.

Finland nearly stopped breathing. She _was_ playing dirty.

She did several things that Finland was not ready for. It was as if she was releasing all of this pent-up emotion on him.

One was applying a liberal amount of Carmex to a spot, and when the blood had reached the surface, she would apply a steady amount of squeezing pressure with some tweezers.

The other involved the electric fly swatter and some vodka, but I will leave that detail up to your filthy little minds.

After engaging in several more acts that I can't describe here, they retreated to the comfort of bed.

But which one? Estonia's was on a top bunk. They climbed up into it and were in the process of doing that part of the deal when the lights turned on and someone entered.

They both froze.

It was Åland.

He yawned. "Hey Estonia," he said. She hid Finland under her blanket and pretended to be taking a nap.

"You're asleep too?" he said. "I'll join you." And with that, he curled up and started to snore.

Finland poked his head out to breathe. "Quiet, your cousin's sleeping in the bunk right below us." Finland growled. He started to leave but Estonia stopped him.

"No! We can finish quietly." And with that, she dragged him back under the covers.

It was a wonderful finish. Finland was just getting ready to leave when Estonia saw a spider and screamed.

She failed, kicking Finland off the bunk. Åland awoke as if someone had just been shot. The first thing he saw was his cousin in his birthday suit.

"What the actual fuck?" Åland yelled. Finland desperately tried to get himself dressed quickly.

Åland said, "You know, maybe one day I won't have to worry about you, but today is not that day. No get out!" Finland gladly obliged, and scrambled out the door.

He wondered what the hell just happened over the last hour.

Estonia literally came out of nowhere and went full Russian domme on him.

Was it just a one-time thing that they would all forget the next day? He sure as hell hoped so.

* * *

The next day, Poland, Norway, Croatia, Germany and Czech Republic went to church. Sweden was cooking up breakfast. His sister was taking a soak in the thermal bath.

Finland woke up with a mild hangover, nothing serious. The light bothered him a little, but a wet washcloth helped him see where he was going.

He meandered down to the kitchen, where he found a cup of… hot mud.

"Germany said that you might have a hangover," Kaiser Germany said. "So I brewed you some coffee. Turkish. You'll like it."

It had the consistency of fudge batter, but it was black and piping hot, so Finland drank a little.

He immediately was awake. "Good stuff, huh?" Kaiser said. "Got to get some more soon. I'm also run out."

Finland finished his coffee. By that time, most of the remaining people who weren't out being religious in church, religious in nature, or religious in bed (both sleeping and… yeah) were out eating breakfast.

Then Sister Iceland said, "Estonia would like to see you."

He suddenly was very afraid.

Estonia was sitting on one of the beds, clutching her stomach. She looked visibly ill.

"Urgh, Finland, I feel sick." Finland looked at her with a why me? look. "Because I want you with me," she said. He sat down next to her.

"Truth is, Finland, I've had a major crush on you since the last World War," she began.

Finland immediately thought, _Oh, God, here it comes_. "And what happened yesterday was sort of me losing control. Sorry if it, you know, wasn't right…" Finland grabbed a stack of paper for communication. _It was fantastic_, he wrote with a smile.

Estonia felt a little better and smiled nervously. "Um, Finland…"

He looked at her cautiously.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

_Estonia has a 25% Russian minority, or maybe that's Russian-speakers. Either way, it's a lot._

_Poland's cuisine is rooted in the potato and beet. It also has pierogi, which are dumplings filled with meat or cheese or potato, but I made pasta instead._

_Unicum is the Hungarian Jägermeister._

_I'm proudly Lutheran, but the yearly ingestion of lutefisk is one of the biggest downsides. Lutefisk is, shortly put, cod soaked in lye for several weeks._

_You're welcome._

_Catholics over 14 eat fish on Fridays during Lent, so many seaside communities with Catholic populations come up with many unique and different ways of eating fish._

_Risotto is an Italian rice dish usually made with oil and garlic and not a little bit of seafood. Venice, when it was a country, held possessions in Croatia, and so Italian fare is common to find in traditional Croatian restaurants._

_Ljubljana is the Slovenian capital._

_Ah, yes. Stalin's Cock, otherwise known as the Palace of Science and Culture. It was a gift from Stalin to the Polish nation. Talk about a white elephant._

_The translated name is Stalin's Syringe, but I thought it would be funny to hear devout Poland call it the cruder name._

_Oh, and for your reference, I will always use euros when talking about specific prices. It's a better benchmark, especially since Finland and the Baltic states are the only countries in Northern/Central/Eastern Europe that use it._


	10. Commonwealth Games

Finland stared at her.

He wasn't sure if he had heard correctly.

Now _he _was feeling sick to his stomach. _Okay, _he thought. _Let's think. Think, think, think. _Unfortunately, nursing a hangover didn't help that process at all.

He wrote on a piece of paper: _are you absolutely certain? _Estonia nodded.

He scribbled _I'll have Iceland look you over in a couple of days. Maybe it's just the flu. For now, just get some rest. _Estonia looked it over and nodded. She rolled over and covered herself with her blanket.

Finland was about to leave when he remembered something. He jotted down _Just in case… NO ALCOHOL. _He knew that if it was indeed a kid, it would get his alcohol genes; the last thing he needed was a miscarriage or some other ghastly happening.

Estonia squinted to make out his writing, then frowned. But the deathly serious expression on Finland's face convinced her that he was right. She went back to bed.

Finland, in the meantime, went to Iceland and wrote _Estonia isn't feeling well. Could you check on her in two days or so? _Iceland looked at him, confused. "Um, sure. Why not now?" Finland indicated that he wasn't sure if it was just a day-long thing or what. Iceland shrugged. "Whatever. Fine," he said. "Just keep an eye on her." So that's what Finland did. For several hours, in fact.

He had no idea what to do. This whole thing was partially his fault- he had went further than just a little bit of BDSM fun. He hadn't taken the necessary precautions that he normally did, partially because it was Sister Sweden who made those precautions for him. His negligence plus Estonia's inexperience led to this. Well, he resolved, I'm going to see this thing through. He knew, deep down inside, that it was what Estonia was experiencing. She was just feeling very nervous. Hell, _he _was feeling nervous. After three days, Iceland would confirm what they knew already.

But first he had to keep this thing under covers, at least for now. He figured that once their suspicions were confirmed, he would quietly withdraw the three of them to his house. Estonia's wasn't safe, and neither was where they currently were. They needed someplace quiet and out of the way. He knew that Soviet Russia was afraid of him, and Russia was merely a peeping tom who needed to be punched every once in a while, so his house seemed the best bet. Next, they would stay there until the war blew over… if there was a war. But all he could do right now was to make sure his, um… _lover _was okay.

* * *

Poland went to go check the radar after he and the others got back from Mass. It had been a while and after the plane crash, Poland was a little more jumpy. When he got to the radar screen, he saw a dot swirl and woosh across it. Looking out at the sky, he saw the same plane doing tricks in the air. Then a transmission request came in.

"Poland to Aircraft, what do you want?" Poland said wearily.

"This is the USS _Enterprise_, Captain Jean-Luc Picard speaking. On-screen."

Poland nearly jumped five feet in the air.

America had a webcam hooked up in his cabin that was transmitting to a viewscreen Poland had; the reception was pretty bad, though. Poland had to squint to see who America had along. He saw Canada in the co-pilot's seat, and a couple of figures in the cabin.

"Poland, we are requesting permission to land the _Enterprise _within the confines of your beautiful fortress."

"Unfortunately," Poland said, "the only place big enough to land your plane is currently occupied by a fighter we shot down."

America sighed. "Dude, that sucks. Whose bird?"

"Yours," Poland said flatly.

America nearly had a coronary. "WHAT?" he yelled. "I didn't send a plane! Honestly, dude-ski, I-" America slapped himself. "Shit! Sorry, I promised myself I would stop calling you that. Anyway, I am completely unaware of all happenings with my military hardware in foreign zones."

"Said the same thing about the prison camps," Poland muttered.

"What?" America said.

"Nothing. Just find a place to land and we'll brief you."

"But I wear boxers!" America protested.

Poland sighed. "Nevermind."

America said, "All right, I will. Ensign Crusher, engage!"

"Aye aye, Captain!" said a small boy, who ran to the front and took over the cockpit, sitting on a phone book. "Wheeee!" he yelled as the plane fell about 50 feet out of the sky, then took a nosedive with America and Canada screaming at the top of their lungs.

Poland sighed, then returned to the house. "It seems as though America's bringing everyone he can fit into his plane to the war council," he announced. Sweden sighed, Norway groaned. "I thought that they wouldn't care," Denmark said. "Remember the _last _time they got involved?" Poland grimaced. Those Christmas lights had taken a long time to set up.

"Nevertheless, they are arriving, so we might as well behave ourselves," Hungary chirped from the thermal bath, where he was engaged in a brutal chess match with Sister Sweden (he was losing badly; he blamed being distracted).

Soon, they heard the sound of a plane landing, and not five minutes afterwards, there was a knock on the door.

* * *

"Not a bad place you have here," America said with a low whistle. "Where did you get all of this high-grade military equipment?"

Poland folded his arms and frowned. "Remember Ukraine?" he said.

America slapped himself on the forehead. "Oh, yeah. Duh. So, where is everybody going to be?" Poland said, "Wait, is _everyone _staying?"

America responded, "Well, no shit, Polska!"

America was dressed like Patton. His army dress uniform had been sponged and pressed, the necktie in a perfect knot, a polished military hat set neatly atop his head. He was leaning on a gleaming staff.

He had brought Canada (of course), France, the United Kingdom, Ireland, and Sealand.

"Sorry, the Southern Hemisphere folks decided to stay home," England said apologetically. "Good thing, too, or I would've gone insane with Australia and his, what would you call it, bombastic attitude," France said.

Wales looked like he would go into severe depression.

Then, they nearly had a war right then and there when Kaiser Germany saw America and France.

"_YOU!_" he yelled, pulling out his iron sword. "_YOU RAILROADED ME, THEN MURDERED ME, THEN GOT MY INCOMPETENT SON TO SIGN THAT DAMN TREATY!" _Croatia and Finland, who had heard the chaos, struggled to restrain him from attacking everyone while America pulled out his taser. With one expert stroke, Kaiser Germany was twitching on the ground.

America was breathing fast and hard, then he rounded angrily on his hosts. "Why didn't you tell us _he _was here?" Germany looked panicked. "I didn't know that he would be that angry!" he said, stricken with fear. "Anyway, what are you doing here, America?" Sweden said testily. "Well, to lead this thing, Norway!" America said with gusto.

Poland looked taken aback. "Um, excuse me!" he said. America turned his head, towering over Poland. Poland failed to be intimidated. "This is _my _show this time, Hamburger Helper! You see all this castle I built? Yeah, that was me! All of the countries here? That was me! I'll be leading the war council, thank you very much!" he said angrily.

America guffawed cruelly. "Oh yeah? You and whose army? This mission needs someone _competent!_"

Poland started to cry. Hungary consoled him. "His army is us," said the true Norway, by now having exhausted his usually tenuous thread of patience with America. "Everyone present. Poland and Hungary are our generals for this conflict, so either you accept that, or go form your own alliance. Either way, we don't care."

They had a stand-off for about ten minutes before Canada said, "Oh, for Pete's sake, this is ridiculous. America, why don't you let Poland have a turn?" America folded his arms and stuck his tongue out. "No!" he said.

Canada sighed. "Can we at least let people vote on whether or not they want to get involved?"

America huffed. "Oh, fine," he said.

Canada and Ireland chose to join the Polish-Hungarian group. Wales and Scotland voted to, but England put the kibosh on it.

"OH COME _ON_!" Scotland yelled. "I'm sick of you controlling me! You promised me freedoms, remember? Well, where are they now? Oh yeah, I forgot. You said those just to get me back! Well, fuck you! I'm tired of being your meat shield whenever there's a war; I'd like to fight for the causes I want to fight for!" Wales agreed wholeheartedly, and to prevent another civil war England, with great reluctance, agreed to let them join.

Then Sealand piped up. "Oh no you don't!" England said. "You're my son, and war is no place for children!"

"Oh, really?" said Christiania, his arms crossed. "I may find your son to be a pest, but he does have the right to an opinion! Besides, we're in it!" He gestured to the other children and Scania, who was trying to corral them. "Plus, I think that we could really use him in our technology department," he said, winking at Hungary and Sweden. They shrugged.

"Oh, _fine!" _England yelled. "Even my own _son!_" Ireland tried to console him saying, "Hey, at least you have my brother." England nearly went apoplectic, but restrained himself.

* * *

France, England, and America left. "Well, I guess that's that," Canada said succinctly. "We've won wars for hundreds of years before he existed; we can do it now."

"Hear, hear!" Poland said. "Hey, why don't we have that war council first thing tomorrow? That'll give a chance for people to get settled."

Ireland said, "Are there enough rooms for us?"

Poland replied, "We can probably squeeze in another bed per room with the Nordics."

There were cheers from the Commonwealth nations.

That night resembled dinner in that for some, it was awesome; for others, it was really, really weird.

Poland put Scotland with the Scandinavians and Finland; Canada with Germany and the Sisters; Sealand with the kids, obviously; Wales in the I-don't-want-to-belong-to-Denmark-anymore, shut-up-Iceland room, and Ireland with everyone else.

Canada felt just as awkward as Germany had that first night. They shared a beer as they sat on the bed, trying hard to ignore whatever conversation the Sisters were having.

"How many nights have you put up with this?" Canada asked Germany as he cracked open a beer. He was beginning to feel an impending sense of doom. "Only two, but I've numbed myself to it," Germany said, taking the beer out of Canada's hands. He took a long pull, then said, "Eh. Not bad stuff you got here."

"What can I expect?" Canada asked. Germany sat the beer down and tried hard to think. "Hm. Well, when the lights go out, about one minute in one of the girls will start trying to talk to you. If you ignore them, well, then they'll probably stop. But if you don't, you're on your own, pal. 'Nother beer?" he asked. Canada gladly accepted. "Please," he said.

When the lights went out, sure enough, Canada was just getting sleepy when someone stage whispered, "Canada! Hey, Canada!"

He didn't say anything. Just ignore them, he thought. But whoever was whispering got more and more persistent.

When they started singing his national anthem, he finally gave in. "What is it?" he hissed.

"It's Sister Denmark," said the whisperer.

"Yes? Do you need something?" Canada responded.

"I think you're cute," Sister Denmark said coyly.

Giggles sounded from the other two sisters, and Canada could've sworn Germany was too.

"Aw geez, not at this hour," Canada groaned.

Fiercer giggles.

All of sudden, he felt warmth. "Ahhh," Canada said. Good. The heater's finally on. He snuggled up and fell asleep.

In the morning, Canada found out that it was not the heater. Sister Denmark had climbed into his bed and was hugging him like a teddy bear. She was wearing an expression that just said _I'm possessed!_

"Hi, Canada."

Canada screamed like a little girl.

It awoke Wales and Ireland, as well as the other people inside of those rooms.

But not necessarily others...

* * *

For instance, Scotland's room had partied hardy well into the night. It started out as a simple nostalgia-fest, reminiscing about plundering England. After about two hours, though, it quickly devolved into a drinking game version of "truth or dare".

When Åland went to the door at two in the morning to tell them that maybe it was time to call it a night, he saw the five cohabitants of said room in various degrees of alcohol-induced collapse.

They ranged from Finland, who was blacked out; to Sweden, who was lying on his bed in nothing but Finland's underwear cuddling a cucumber, kissing it and saying, "You've been a very bad boy, haven't you?"; to Norway and Denmark, who were topless and dancing the can-can to a jig Scotland (who was naked as a jaybird) was playing on his bagpipes.

When the others saw Aland standing in the doorway, the music stopped abruptly.

Norway and Denmark stared at Aland, and he stared awkwardly back.

Finland twitched.

Sweden was still cuddling his cucumber, giggling and muttering gibberish.

Scotland had the reed in his mouth. "Well, don't just stand there, mate," he said. "What are ye after?"

Aland just quietly left the room and closed the door.

He noted, however, that the lights went out shortly thereafter.

* * *

The night was also not-so-much-fun for Scania.

When the lights went out, the kids got out of bed and were fiddling with something, giggling.

He was about to wake up and tell them to get to bed or so help him they'll be grounded for a week when he heard a small, irritating whining sound coming from somewhere in the room. He groaned and tried to fall asleep again.

But the noise wouldn't go away. It was _slowly driving him mad_.

"ARGH!" he yelled.

Needless to say, in the morning when the children woke up, they found their caretaker in the midst of a pile of clothing and blankets. Everything had been ripped apart trying to find the blasted noise.

Scania looked like he had mixed Red Bull in with the coffee, then pulled an all-nighter.

He groaned like a zombie as he watched Sealand smile, reach into his pocket, pull out a device the size of a quarter, and flip a switch. All of a sudden, the noise stopped.

Scania could just stare at the micronation, wondering how many ways he could make him disappear with nobody noticing. He collapsed onto his bed.

"Dude, that was hilarious!" shouted Kven. "Where did you get that thing?"

"I made it," said Sealand smugly. "It annoys the heck out of Dad."

"Dude, you're more evil than I thought," said Christiania grudgingly.

* * *

Apparently, nobody else was up yet. So they thought. However, upon the instigation of the daily morning kitchen raid, they were greeted by a sobbing Sister Sweden.

"Um, Auntie?" FennoSwede cautioned.

Scania galumphed out of the bedroom, desperate to find some ibuprofen for his blazing headache. The minute he saw his mother crying, however, he sobered up immediately.

His eyes turned to the table. On it was a note.

_To my sweet Sweden, how wonderful it would have been if you said that you loved me. Alas, that was not to be the case. Goodbye._

Scania's heart dropped.

The commotion had awakened Hungary, who had been enjoying a nap in the living room. He sauntered over, and read the note.

He scowled, then put on his reading glasses. He read it again, his face contorting with anger.

"If it's any consolation, drága, this is not Poland's handwriting," he said. "I recognize it, but I'll be damned if it's who I think it is."

Wales returned from the basement. He was pale. "Um, I think you guys should come and see this," he said, a little panicky.

Hungary squinted at Wales suspiciously. "What were you doing down there?"

Wales fidgeted and stammered, "Um, nothing!" as he quickly shoved his phone into his pocket. "Just, uh, making a call."

Hungary pushed past him, and Sister Sweden followed suit.

They found a large metal disc up against the wall, revealing a large hole in the ground, like a cargo hold.

Sister Sweden nearly had a heart attack. It was where Poland had kept Sister Nazi Germany.

There were small signs of a struggle on the ground- small drops of blood, bits of cloth. Then, Sister Sweden and Hungary descended into the hold while Wales and Scania covered them from above.

It was really cold and dark, but what sent the alarms blaring through both of them was what Sister Sweden saw on the wall.

Someone had written something on the wall. It was in liquid form, and under the miniscule beam of sunlight Hungary saw that it was red.

"Oh my God," he said, falling to his knees, moaning. "It's blood, Poland's blood."

Sister Sweden motioned for a flashlight, and the message sent shocks through her spine.

_Sister Sweden,_

_She has taken me. I love you._

_Long live Poland!_

* * *

_So I'm experimenting with how countries are born. Let's see where this goes._

_The micronation of Sealand was founded partially as a base to operate a pirate radio station, so I'm going to explore the child-hacker idea._

_The 'Long Live Poland' bit comes from World War Two. When Nazi Germany took over Poland, a lot of Polish refugees (and the Polish government-in-exile) went to England. So it came naturally that Poles would serve for England during the war._

_When convoys had to go through the Arctic in order to get supplies to Soviet Russia, they would often be attacked by German planes and warships from Norway. _

_One such convoy ship, comprised mostly of Poles, floated into the Russian port with everyone dead, but with 'Long Live Poland' written in the crew's blood on the upper-works. The presumption is that everyone starved to death and the last alive crew member left a final message._


	11. Kidnapped

Poland had had the worst night of all.

Hearing the various commotion from downstairs, he just curled up into his sparse covers some more, trying to fall asleep. But when he heard a _crash, _he had to investigate.

When he went downstairs, he heard talking coming from the basement. Looking in the living room, he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, becoming suspicious.

Just then, someone came out of the basement.

It was Wales.

"Alright, honey, see you soon! Bye-bye!" He turned his phone off, and was very startled to see Poland standing there.

"Gah! You scared me!" Wales said. Poland quieted him down. "Sorry, sorry! Did you just hear something crash around here?"

Wales looked at him with an inquisitive look. "Actually, I did," he said. "Down there somewhere." He pointed at the basement. "I didn't see anything, so you should probably go check it out."

Poland decided to act on Wales' suggestion, but he took a flashlight just to be safe.

Descending into the basement, he took a long look around. Nothing in particular looked out of the ordinary.

Then he heard it again; this time it was more of a _thud. _Poland backed into a corner, so as to keep his back secure. He took another sweep with the flashlight. Again, nothing really to write home about. With the utmost caution, he turned off the light, and it became pitch black.

All of a sudden, he heard a deafening _clang_, and before he could turn his light back on someone sucker-punched him and then threw him into a hole.

He felt the sensation of falling. After what seemed like an eternity, he landed on a cold, hard surface.

He was unconscious for about 10 minutes, and when he awoke he felt as if someone had hit him over the head with a pipe. And trust me, he knew exactly what that felt like.

Rolling around on the ground and groping the floor, he felt a small, cylindrical object. _His flashlight!_

Turning it on, he saw that he bled a lot. Holding his hand to his head, it came off shining crimson.

Groaning, and knowing that he had about 5 minutes before blackout, he resorted to a desperate measure that in any other situation would be considered the idea of a disturbed individual.

Using the only substance he had at his disposal, he finger-painted a message to Sister Sweden in his own blood. He prayed that his attacker- who he knew was Sister Nazi Germany- didn't see it.

He heard her come back down into the basement, and he turned off the flashlight. Just as he did, he collapsed.

And the last he saw of his home for the next week was Sister Sweden's evil twin carrying him over her back.

* * *

"And when I went down there this morning, he was gone," Wales said, almost in tears.

By now everyone was up. Norway, Denmark, and Scotland held hot washcloths to their foreheads, while Sweden grimaced horribly as he tried to sit down. Åland was propping Finland up even once in a while when Finland would nod off. Scania was awake, but looked miserable. Everyone was either silent and squirming uncomfortably in their seat, or murmuring nervously to the person next to them.

"Thank you, Wales," Norway said consolingly. He pointed to a complex sketching on a blackboard. "Now, I drew up some ideas for rescue missions, as you can see here."

"When did he get a Ph.D?" Sweden muttered to Denmark.

"When did he get a blackboard?" Denmark responded.

"We know that Poland was taken by Sister Nazi Germany, at least from the message that Poland left. Also, the evidence Wales gave points to the only person that Poland had interned down there- her. Now, we also know that we need to get him back. Any suggestions?"

Crickets.

"C'mon, guys, he's our friend!" Norway said.

Nothing.

"Ideas? Anyone?"

Silence.

Finally, someone spoke up.

"I propose we send in a strike force," Sister Sweden said. "It's the most direct way, and they won't see it coming."

"I agree with Sister Sweden," Kaiser Germany boomed. "My… _relatives _will be taken by surprise. They won't be prepared for an assault when they've taken our commander and are probably torturing the answers to all of his protective devices out of him. I, for one, call this plan a winner!"

"Good. Now let's just hope it goes better than the Schlieffen Plan," Sweden grumbled. Kaiser Germany ignored him. "Norway, may I suggest you take 5 of us? It's a good number- not too big, not too small."

Norway nodded. "Alright. Hungary, I want you to stay," he said while Hungary opened his mouth silently, but furious. "I know how much this would probably mean to you, but you're Poland's second-in-command and probably know galaxies more about his methods and protocols than me." Hungary softened up, understanding.

"We should probably have two co-commanders, a tech expert, someone skilled in nature and and a jack-of-all-trades," Norway explained.

"I nominate Sister Sweden and Kaiser Germany as the mission leaders, if they accept."

Sister Sweden gulped. She had never been put in charge of other people before, other than her own son and sometimes her nephew and his friends. Usually, commanding was reserved for her brother. But she felt that Norway trusted her more than Sweden to go through the mission with passion, considering that Poland (as everyone thought) was her boyfriend. She had yet to really analyze that more, but she felt that this could be a good chance. Also, she was with a seasoned veteran who knew what he was doing. She felt confident.

"Well, I think the nature boy should be you, Norway," Sister Sweden said. "You are, after all, the nature boy."

Norway blushed. "Aw, gee. Well, I was thinking of helping Hungary out here…" Hungary shook his head. "I'm good here, man," he said. "Go rescue Poland."

"As for tech… anybody wanting that job? Do we have anyone qualified for that?" Norway asked.

"I am," Hungary and Sweden said in tandem.

"Hm. Hungary, you need to run this operation, and Sweden, having you and your sister might lead to conflict. No offense," Norway added hastily.

Sweden shrugged. "None taken. Anyway, I'm probably not in any shape to travel," he said, wincing.

Germany frowned. "Well, that's a problem," he said.

"No, it isn't," piped up a small voice. Everyone turned to see who it was.

It was Sealand.

"I'm a little improvisational, but I can get the job done," he said.

Kaiser Germany looked incredulously at the micronation. "Really? Can you show us something that proves it?"

"Sure," Sealand replied. "Can someone provide me a computer?" Finland, who happened to be conscious, gave Sealand his old Acer. He typed an HTML message on it: _All yours, kid. Do miracles._

Sealand pulled up the Command Prompt and began rapidly typing. They watched as mountains of code became mere piles. Pretty soon, the pages of script had been condensed down into 25 lines.

"That was Nazi Germany's drone system," he said smugly. "Dad had mounted evidence that Nazi Germany was in the possession of armed and non-armed drones, so I just found his directory and disabled them. He won't be getting any more intel from the sky unless he sends personnel. Also, I boosted the strength of the radar here and the alarm system. That way, it'll be easier to detect enemy craft, especially since we don't have any."

Kaiser Germany gaped at Sealand. Sister Sweden said, "I think we may have found our hacker. Congrats, kid."

Now all they needed was an all-around person. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

The only person remotely close was Germany, and he refused. " I really don't want to go see… him," he said, a nervous wreck.

"We may have to go with just the four of us," Kaiser Germany said. "It'll be okay, I hope."

* * *

After saying goodbyes and packing, they gathered in the field just outside of the wall.

"Alright, if he's where I think he is, we'll need to make a few stops. We should take the train to Vienna and see if Nazi Germany has regenerated the Anschluss," Kaiser Germany said, pointing at a map.

Sister Sweden said, "Shouldn't we stop in Lvóv for supplies?" she asked, pointing to a large city just outside of Warsaw.

Norway shook his head. "Bad idea to stay in Poland. We should get out of this country as soon as possible. We should take the train to Vienna, as was suggested. Or we could stop in Bratislava for supplies; that's close by," he said, pointing to Slovakia's capital.

Sister Sweden thought long and hard. "Sounds like a plan. Sealand, can you finagle some tickets?"

Sealand said, "You betcha! I can even get 'em for free!"

Not a moment too soon.

They saw the black clouds inching closer over the Polish countryside, and they knew those were no storm clouds.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the house, Hungary was trying to figure out what the heck to do next.

Poland had mostly relegated him to a backseat role, monitoring radar and weapons systems. His job entailed him making sure that nothing came near the fortress without leaving in pieces. Every once in a while, he would shoot down a drone. But outside of that, it was pretty boring.

He was not, however, prepared for his commanding officer to be kidnapped.

He knew that Nazi Germany would attack them eventually, but this had happened because Poland had made a fatal mistake- not securing the holding cell containing Sister Nazi Germany properly enough.

Now Hungary had sent a probably-doomed rescue mission consisting of a retread World War One vet, a chess-playing dominatrix, a fish-obsessed former Viking, and a child hacker genius.

As he looked over the now-dwindling Eastern War Council, he sighed. The Nordics were now fighting without the peacemaking ability of Norway. Czech Republic and Slovakia were back to arguing. Estonia was resting her head on Finland, who was now awake but not terribly pleased with the wannabe Nordic on his shoulder. Slovenia and Croatia had wandered off again. Hungary knew that Poland should've kept tabs on those two; he wasn't convinced of their new loyalties to the cause rather than to their former overlord, who was now alive.

Well, he thought, better get started. "Sweden, what's wrong with you?" he said as he looked at Iceland prodding the unhappy Scandinavian with some sort of probe.

"Well, I'm sensing that he had a large object where there should never be a large object," Iceland said with an expression that suggested _I had no idea Sweden would do this._

"In other words," Denmark said while absentmindedly feeding Wales a beer, "while we were getting plastered last night, Sweden got a little into it and shoved a cucumber up his ass."

"_Thank you, Denmark,_" Sweden said through very gritted teeth, "_for your bluntness_." Denmark, unaware of being insulted, said, "Anytime."

"Okay, let's bring it together!" Hungary called. Only the Commonwealth nations and the Finno-Ugrics responded.

Slovakia sneered, "Who died and made you king?"

Hungary gave her the coldest expression he could give and said, "Nobody… yet. And if we keep bickering, it could result in our complete and utter annihilation, so I suggest that _everyone shuts up!_"

Everyone duly did so.

"Now, does anyone have a basic comprehension of logic?" he said. Sweden tentatively rose his hand. "Good," Hungary said, relieved. "Now, after Nazi Germany captured Poland last time, what happened next?" They thought.

Finland thought long and hard, then his expression went from puzzlement to shock to fear. He raised his hand.

"Yes, Finland?" Hungary said.

He scribbled something, then handed it to his cousin. "Soviet Russia attacked me," Åland said. "I need to get home. Now."

* * *

But before Finland would go anywhere, he went to Iceland and pleaded with him to do a checkup on Estonia.

"Okay, okay, geez," Iceland said as Finland glared at him, his knife hand twitching.

Iceland went into the room for about an hour. When he emerged, Finland put him up against the wall with his knife to Iceland's throat.

He whispered, "Not. A. Word. To. Anybody."

When Finland said something other than perkele, Iceland knew it was life-or-death right then and there. He gulped and agreed to keep it under wraps.

That evening, after a very anti-climactic dinner, Finland quietly packed up his stuff and went to go help Estonia with hers. Then, in the dead of the night, sneaking past Poland's numerous booby traps, they left for Gdansk, hoping to get a boat to Helsinki.

Finland knew for a fact that history repeated itself, and even though he had scared of Soviet Russia the first time, he would need to do it again for the better of group.

As he and Estonia sailed towards home, she being pregnant with their child, he felt that this would not only change the group's fate, but also his life.


	12. Jailbreaks, Crucifixion, and Moonshiners

Hungary was livid.

"Where could they have gone?" he bellowed, pacing around the room.

"For the last time, we don't know," said a mildly irritated Ireland. "There was no evidence that she planned on leaving anytime soon; she just mostly laid in bed ill. Maybe the doctor knows?" he said, with a pointed glance at Iceland.

"Also, for the last time, I was sworn at knifepoint to not tell anyone why they left," Iceland grumbled. "I know why, but I'm not spilling."

Hungary threw his arms down. "Great. Just great. So now, not only do we have a suicide mission against Nazi Germany, but two of our supposedly "neutral" comrades just up and left in the middle of the night! Does anyone have any idea of where they went?"

"Furthermore, why didn't Finland take his sister?" Sweden asked, pointing to Sister Finland, who was sitting in the corner looking dejected.

She was thinking the same thing. _If he was in such a hurry to get home, why did he forget me?_ Åland seemed to be just as puzzled, although he seemed plenty content to be with Sweden. The only instance he could think of was Sister Sweden, but she was gone now. Whatever was happening on the Finnish front would have to be ignored for the time being.

"We'll just have to pray that they're safe for now," Åland said. "Because whatever they're up to, we can't be concerned with. We have to fight on two fronts- Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia. We know that Nazi Germany has something dastardly planned for Poland. Now who would Soviet Russia want to attack? Obviously Finland, and the Baltics. Lithuania's with us, he's captured Latvia, and Estonia's with Finland. Now, who else drew his ire that might be at risk?"

Slovakia grumbled, "Why don't you ask our new commander? He's the only guy who's tried to violently revolt against him."

Hungary went pale. "Oh _shit_," he said.

"Now, who do we have left?" Sweden asked. He counted the Scandinavians minus Norway plus Iceland and Denmark's colonies, Germany, the Czechoslovakians, Hungary, and the Commonwealth nations of Canada, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. "We might need to call on some more allies," he said.

"No offense, laddie, but that's a no-brainer," Scotland said, inspecting his claymore. He thought hard. "It's a sair fecht, all right. Wales, you got anything?"

The smaller nation was twiddling his thumbs. "Ach, no," he said. Then he stopped. "Wait a sec, Scottie, I might have something. Why don't we Rebels go and bug up Soviet Russia? It'll give us something to do, and the author has no other plan for us for a good chunk of this story." Scotland replied, "Aye, that might be fun!" At this point Ireland and Canada were interjecting with their approval.

Hungary had no choice but to approve. "Urgh. It makes me sick to my stomach. Just go already." With a whoop and a holler, the Celtic nations and Canada were packed and out the door.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Get Poland Back in One Piece Rescue Squad had hit a bit of a roadblock. Literally. As the train was about to cross the border into Austria, they were stopped and several undead SS got on board. "Well, I guess that answers that question," Kaiser Germany said. "I figured it might be the case; Nazi Germany does have a way with Austria, doesn't he?" He wrinkled his nose. "I feel the invisible hand of my grandson at work here," he said, pausing to consider that a possibility. Before any of them could ask who Kaiser Germany's grandson was, Sealand did something very rash.

"Hey! You! Over here!" he yelled calling to the guards. They looked over in their direction, and Norway made a mental note to swing an axe dangerously close to Sealand's jugular when he got the chance.

No a moment later, they were off the train, and the guards debated whether or not to execute them right then and there or to take them to Nazi Germany. Finally, they decided that they might provide information, so they bound them and stuffed them in the back of a black Porsche. Everyone glared at Sealand, who acted smug like he was some sort of genius.

They were driven through a countryside that ranged from alpine to river valley, to plains to hills. Finally, they approached a city that otherwise would've looked rather typically German if it wasn't already busy looking like Nazi Germany had dumped eine Scheiße Tonne of red, white, and swastikas all over the place.

"Nürnburg," Kaiser Germany murmured. "He has been busy! I'd hate to see what Berlin looks like."

They were hustled into a large castle that also looked like it had been a prison in a past life. Shoved into stone cells, they were left in the dark.

"Well, this sucks," Norway deadpanned.

"Nein Scheiß," Kaiser Germany said. "We'll be lucky to make it out."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Sister Sweden growled, "_what the hell, Sealand? What was that about?_"

Sealand just laughed. "Would you rather be walking aimlessly all around Austria? I just got us to our destination!"

"Yeah, the gas chamber," Sister Sweden muttered.

"Anyway, I can get us out of here, no problem," Sealand said. "And when we do, I've got a plan."

He pulled out a small object that seemed to be metal, and after considerable rattling he managed to pick the lock on the cell door. He did the same to the others, and in no time flat they were out.

"If this castle is built like any other, then this plan will work easily." He drew a rough shape on the ground. "Most castles have more than one dungeon. I'm hedging my sovereignty that our target's in the other one. So what we need to do is simply go there and sneak out," Sealand explained.

Kaiser Germany said, "Sounds great, but knowing my son, he'll have guards planted at every opportunity. Also, he's leaned towards using cameras, so we have those to worry about as well."

Sealand thought, then said, "Okay, here's what we'll do. i can go knock out the electricity for the entire castle, giving you guys time to get to Poland." Norway interjected, "Do we really need three people to rescue Poland?" At this point, Sister Sweden's leadership skills went into gear.

"Alright, here's the final plan. Sealand, you knock out electricity. Kaiser Germany and Norway, go to the armory and stock up. I'll rescue Poland."

The guard posted outside thought he heard voices, and he was on specific orders to not allow such things. So he decided to tell them to shut up. However, they were gone! There weren't any windows, and he hadn't seen them leave. Where could they be?

A well-placed roundhouse kick destroyed any chance of them being caught, and they quickly left for their targets. The whole shebang, called Case Black, was hinging on Sealand being able to disable the electricity. Without that, they would be easily caught. Sealand snuck his way down into a utility room, where he easily found the control panel for all of the castle's electricity. Rather than just flipping some switches, he decided to go a more lasting route.

Sister Sweden was having trouble. The way to the second dungeon was more heavily guarded than the first, and she was on the verge of getting caught. _Come on, Sealand_, she prayed. Then a deafening explosion ripped through the castle, followed by angry shouts in German and the sound of a structure collapsing. In the midst of the chaos, she ran down the corridors, bumping into stormtroopers that she prayed didn't see her. Eventually, she reached the dungeon. But when she got there, there was nobody in it. Heart dropping, she interrogated a guard. "Where's the prisoner?" she asked, faking a German accent. "Chamber 2," came the static reply, and she barrelled upstairs.

Reaching said room, she noticed two things.

One, there were no guards present, heightening her concern.

Two, there were screams coming from within, leading her to believe that her friend was inside there.

Creaking the door open, she was treated to a terrifying sight. At least, it would seem so to Poland. But to Sister Sweden, it revealed that Sister Nazi Germany really was her evil twin.

Sister Nazi Germany had replaced Poland's bicolour with a Nazi flag, which seemed to be having a physical effect on him. She had also tied him to a cross, ála Christ. His back leached red into the wood, showing that he had already been given the 40 lashes. A crown of thorns sat atop his head. A Bible sat primly atop a desk.

"Any last words, my dear?" she said with a sickly sweet voice. "Because I think you're truly wonderful. In fact, if you weren't such an _übermensch_…" She chuckled and stroked his cheek with a black fingernail as Poland screamed in pain.

Seeing her friend being tortured was bad enough. But seeing her sadistic twin mock his faith and torture him at the same time was even worse.

Growling like a tiger, she withdrew one of her trademark velvet strips and snuck up behind Sister Nazi Germany.

As Sister Nazi Germany was about to recite the Bible, she suddenly felt her air cut off. Gasping, she reached for her throat, but couldn't relieve it.

As it got tighter, Sister Sweden snarled, "You leave him alone." And with that, Sister Nazi Germany collapsed. Sister Sweden took her pulse; she was only unconscious, but it had done enough.

"C'mon, Poland, let's go home," she said gently, cutting his rope bonds with a knife. With no strength left and in a state of delirium, Poland was carried in Sister Sweden's arms. She met up with Kaiser Germany, who had his requisite sword. "Where's Norway?" she asked. "I thought he was with you!" he said, looking around.

"I'm right here," came Norway's voice.

They found Sealand wandering in the grass outside with a silly grin on his face, his neat black hair in Einstein mode. "Dude, did you hear that?" he said, slightly loopy. "I built that out of an air compressor, nitroglycerine that they had laying around, and gum. That was _awesome_!"

They looked at the damage done by Sealand's MacGyver bomb. It had destroyed a good portion of the eastern side, leaving a gaping hole on one side of the castle. Norway raised his eyebrows. "Impressive," he said. "Let's get out of here!"

However, as they ran across the field, an imposing figure stood in their way.

"Oh, how adorable!" Nazi Germany cackled. He had several SS with him, blocking all available exits. "Wow, Dad. I didn't know you would stoop to their level. I thought you to be better than this."

Kaiser Germany leveled an icy cold stare at his middle child. "You always thought too highly of me," he said, withdrawing his sword. "Now, if you don't move aside, I won't hesitate to use force."

Nazi Germany raised an eyebrow. "Fine, but the Polack stays with me. I have plans for him."

Sister Sweden grew visibly angry. "You were going to kill him! That's what he was going to be when I found your demonic sister doing unspeakable things to him!"

Nazi Germany suddenly grabbed Sister Sweden, and she slowly reached for her crop. "What did you do to her?" he said with deadly calm. "Don't worry, she's only unconscious," Sister Sweden said back, "and it's what you're going to be if you don't back off right now and let us go." Nazi Germany refused. "Now that I think of it, you might make a better prisoner," he said, getting a creepy smile.

_THWACK._

The crop left a decent-sized red mark on Nazi Germany's face. He lunged at her again, and she swung blindly. She made contact with his nose. He went down screaming as they ran past him, Kaiser Germany cutting down the posse of stormtroopers that followed them. Jumping into one of the SS cars, they sped out of there.

* * *

About halfway there, Norway came across a thought. "We should leave this on the Polish border. You know, in case Nazi Germany tagged a tracking device on it." So when they reached Silesia, they abandoned the car in a ditch. "Great. Now where are we?" Kaiser Germany thought. Pretty soon they heard the sound of a plane, a sound that was quite familiar…

"YO! NEED A LIFT?" America yelled out of the window as he circled just above them. "Yes, yes we do!" Norway called back. A ladder descended from the plane, and they got on, Sister Sweden strapping Poland into a harness. Once they got on board, America made sure they got seated. "Lessee here, Sealand, Sweden- no, wait, you're Denmark, aren't you?- Norway's sister, and Kaiser Kraut." Kaiser Germany, instead of losing it with America, decided to just roll his eyes like the rest and take a seat. America's flight power had improved tremendously, and they all marveled at the luxury of the plane. "Is it the same as your old one?" Norway asked. America shook his head. "Nah. This one's better. See, it comes with an in-flight movie!" And pretty soon they were being treated to the pinnacle of American filmmaking that is _Back to the Future_.

Upon landing, Sister Sweden carried the comatose Poland in her arms, with Norway and Kaiser Germany right behind, arguing about how the movie was going to end.

"The problem is, Kaiser, that you don't look for the small things that make all the difference," Norway said.

"Little things?" Kaiser Germany said incredulously. "You're the one who forgot Einstein's name five minutes after they just said it on the screen!"

Sealand piped up, "Did anyone else notice how the movie theater said _Orgy: American Style_ in the beginning?"

When Hungary answered the door, he furrowed his brow at the sight of America, but let him in anyway.

Sister Sweden ran into the house, carrying her friend. By now he was murmuring what sounded like nonsense to everyone else, but Sister Sweden heard various phrases in Latin, and she heard the word _decessus_: departure.

She pleaded with America to take Poland to Switzerland's house. "He needs urgent care!" she said, almost in tears. "_He can't die!_"

America finally relented. "Alright, fine. I'll take the little punching bag to Swiss Miss, but only because you asked politely," he said with a slight blush. "Oh, and I need a copilot. Who can fly a plane if needed?"

* * *

With Poland strapped into a seat to prevent further endangerment, America taxied out of Warsaw and was in the air with a mildly frustrated nation as copilot.

"I don't see why I had to come," Norway grumbled. "Dude, remember the last war? You had all of those cool air bases!" America said.

Norway scowled. "Those were Nazi Germany's, and yes, I can fly a plane, but I prefer not to."

This time, it was America's turn to scowl. "Then why did I even bring you with me?" he mumbled.

"_I don't know!_" Norway said.

And then an awkward silence ensued for about ten minutes.

Finally, Norway said, "Look, we off on the wrong foot. And this is something I haven't told anybody else." America looked at him with a raised brow.

"I found your sister," Norway said.

America nearly killed the engine.

"Wait, _WHAT?_" he yelled. "_Where? WHERE?_" Norway said, "Nazi Germany's castle. I thought that you should know. I didn't have time to tell anyone else, since we were going to be swarmed by stormtroopers…"

"This means war," America growled. "He _sold_ her to that… _that racist asshole!_" Norway was very confused.

_Maybe he's just rambling again_, he thought. "Denmark, we're going to my place after dropping dude-ski off at the fondue guy's house. We have a very important mission to do." Then America set his jaw in a way that said _And nobody's gonna tell me otherwise._

Norway knew that he was in over his head at this point, so he just shut up and decided to let whatever was going to happen, happen.

Pretty soon, they arrived at Switzerland's house. He was surrounded by the tall Alps, and it made Norway giddy. He told America that it would be best if he left his gun in the plane; if Switzerland thought they were attacking, he might blow up the whole thing.

Norway said, "Okay, look, let me handle this. Just sit in the plane until I'm done." Norway lifted Poland and carried him, knocking on the door.

Switzerland answered warily, "Who is it?"

"It's Norway. I desperately need your help!"

Switzerland opened the door, then saw Poland. "Oh my God, what happened to him?" he said in shock.

"Nazi Germany's sister, that's what happened," Norway said grimly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up, here! As much as I'd love to help, I can't," Switzerland said. "Could you _imagine_ what Nazi Germany would _do_ to me if he found out I helped _Poland?_"

Norway waggled his eyebrows. "But nobody needs to know," he said as if dropping a hint.

Switzerland looked at him funny, then understood what he was saying. "Oh. _Oh._" He invited Norway in, looked around, then bolted the door and shut the blinds. "Follow me," he said.

Norway gaped at Switzerland's hospital. It had the most high-tech medical equipment outside of America, without the five-page-long waitlists. Switzerland took Poland and removed the makeshift Nazi shirt. Turning him over, the two nations were treated to the ghastly sight that was Poland's back.

It made Finland's ordeal look like a paper cut. Sister Nazi Germany had used not a whip or crop, but something more like a cat-o-nine-tails. It had been whipped completely raw.

"He's going to need grafts," Switzerland said. "Also, we'll need to do emergency fluid replacement. He's lost so much blood that he'll die within 48 hours if we don't get going now."

Signalling his two best nurses, Switzerland got all sorts of things in motion- inserting IV, heart rate monitors, and the like.

Once he managed to convince Norway that he was good to go, Switzerland turned to the still-comatose Poland and removed his mask. If he _did_ die, he felt that that was the last thing people should remember him for.

* * *

Norway got back in the plane. America said, "About time! Hey, is dude-ski going to be all right?" Norway quietly said, "Maybe. He lost a lot of blood, and Switzerland's working overtime trying to get him through two days. Let's go."

A zippy three hours later, they touched down in America. "Ah, home!" he said. "I can smell the apple pie and baseball and freedom from here." Once they got off, they managed to reached America's neighborhood just fine- his house looked the same as ever during the winter holidays, meaning that it was so bedecked in Christmas lights that you could see it from space- but when they passed his house, Norway was confused.

"I thought we were going to your house," he said. America shook his head. "Nope. We're going… somewhere else."

As they turned down a street called Freedom Avenue, Norway was amazed by what he saw. It seemed like a collection of about 50 houses of various stature, each having their own plot of land.

He saw everything from a huge mansion with wide expansive greens to a high-rise penthouse to something looking like what Iceland used to live in several hundred years ago. Each had a different flag in front of their abode, and he could see the activities going on inside- in the mansion, he saw what looked like Ireland if Ireland had decided to act like England, right down to reading leather-bound books that looked like they cost an entire year's wages. In a cabin, he heard something very familiar: drunken arguing and garbled Scandinavian tongues. Every place seemed to have it's own temperament.

As they strolled down the main drag, they turned off into a deep wood. Eventually, they stopped in front of a modest but quaintly run-down farmhouse. America knocked on the door.

A voice yelled out, "Who is it?" America bellowed, "You know damn well who it is, West Virginia! I need to speak to either you or your brother!" The voice went silent, then yelled back, "You know he's working right now!" And the door opened.

Had she not reeked of alcohol and tobacco, Norway might've found her to not be much out of place amongst Scotland and Ireland. She had ruddy red hair that went down to just below her shoulders, and wore a white shirt with a blue border with jeans and boots that could probably dent shin bones. A Winchester rifle was strapped to her back like Kaiser Germany had his sword.

"Well, whaddya want, you big goon?" she said, minutely playful.

"I have here a search warrant," America said, producing a crumpled piece of paper.

West Virginia perused it quickly, and said, "Hmph. You know how I feel about you snoopin', Fed."

America raised his hands and said, "Just want to look in your backwoods."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go right ahead. Gate's on the right hand side."

She was about to close the door when she caught the eye of Norway. "Who's the commie with you here, Fed?"

America saw Norway and said, "Oh, he's just along for the ride."

She asked, "Shouldn't he be with them fish-eaters up north?"

At this, Norway said, "Fish-eaters?"

America called from the back, "Yeah. I can introduce you after we're done here." Norway, out of sheer curiosity, went to the backyard, which actually didn't look awful.

America crept through the woods stealthily, like he was stalking something. His foot hit something metal.

"This your still?" he called back. West Virginia folded her arms and scowled like a pro. "You _know_ that _I've_ been dry for years. Why don't you use enhanced interrogation on my brother when he gets home?" America kicked the metal some more. "This has been used recently," he mused, suspicious.

Just then, he heard a rustle in the back forest. "AHA!" he yelled, and pounced. A muffled yell resounded, and soon America had the offender by the scruff of his shirt.

He looked like Russia, if Russia ditched his fur hat for a straw hat. He wore a red shirt with a blue saltire in the middle.

"What do you have to say for that, rebel?!" America yelled.

"Put me down, Yank!" Confederate America spluttered. America unceremoniously dropped him onto the grass.

"Alright, Reb, what did you do with my sister? Tell me, before I decide to beat you up again."

Confederate America laughed. "Oh, America, you and your jokes! No, but seriously now, what are you talking about?"

America grabbed him again and said, with deadly calm, "What did you do to my sister?"

The other America snorted, "Why would I want _anything_ to do with your sister? She annoys me within two seconds. I wouldn't get close enough to her to do _anything_ without wanting to blow my brains out."

America eyed him, suspicious. "Where's your sister?"

"Haven't seen her in a week. The last I heard out of her, she was having an outing with Alabama."

"Alright, but you're coming with us."

"And just where would that be, Yank?"

America grabbed him again and said, "Why don't you get in the plane and find out?"

* * *

The visitation tour with the Upper Midwest was called off. Confederate America and Norway sat awkwardly next to each other.

"So, what are you up to these days?" Norway asked.

Confederate America shrugged. "Not much. I mostly do some distilling and then sell it to my compadres in the South."

"What's your relationship with America?"

Snort. "Technically, we're brothers. I know, the hair fakes you out there, doesn't it? And who's my mother? Well, she would be none other than-"

America cut him off from the front. "Remember our deal, Stonewall," he called back. "Don't make me put you through de-Confederatization again." Heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry if this is a sore point," Norway said, "but what was that whole problem between you two about? You know, the fight?"

"Oh, that?" Confederate America said. "Depends on who you ask. If you ask him, he'll say it was about slavery. But in my opinion, it was just me wanting him to get out of my hair. I didn't even own slaves; my sister was the plantation owner."

He acquired a sour look on his face. "She's just as annoying as Sister America. Anyway, I just brewed up the special sauce and kept Dixie chugging when we weren't, you know, fighting."

America piped up, "Hey, the Civil War was a good war!"

"You mean the War of Yankee Aggression?" Confederate America grumbled.

"I HEARD THAT!"

"Okay, you two, let's not get into it here," Norway said, hoping to keep the peace.

When they landed, Confederate America started shivering. "Jesus in heaven, brother, but you could've warned me about the weather! Where are we, anyway?"

"Welcome to Poland," Norway said flatly.

"Poland, eh? You know, he might've stole my pickup, but I can't be sure. How's the old robber baron doing?" Confederate America said with a chuckle. "Not great," Norway replied. "You'll see."

* * *

_Okay, lots of cultural references. I'll explain the more obscure ones._

_I'll be using a lot of Welsh and Scottish sayings. Get used to it._

_Confederate America is supposed to be the stereotype of the 90% of Southerners who didn't own slaves and only really cared about the right to do what they wanted without fear of interference. That's why I have him as a moonshiner; it annoys America. Anyway, I kinda like him. His sister, as you'll see, is the Southern aristocracy who really started the war (more on that later)._

_De-Nazification was something taken very seriously after World War 2. Any former Nazi, whether a high ranking officer or an army cook, was subjected to this process that involved recantations and viewings of atrocities. So I created De-Confederatization._

_The U.S government for years refused to call torture 'torture' but rather 'enhanced interrogation'._

_West Virginia (and Appalachia in general) is mostly Scot-Irish. Hence her character and red hair._

_The mansion-dweller is supposed to be Massachusetts, who has a large Irish Catholic population but also a English Anglican one; on the West Coast (where I reside) they are seen as sort of elitist and annoying._

_Many Southerners refer to the Civil War as the War of Northern Aggression._


	13. War

"Ah, come on, lad! It's not _that much _farther!" Scotland called. He and Canada were about half a mile beyond Wales and Ireland, and the latter two were starting to get cranky about the whole affair. They had figured that the quickest way to get to Moscow was by train; unfortunately, because Soviet Russia had effectively walled off the borders they had to disembark at Minsk. Belarus was unwilling to sacrifice her independence in order to get them to Moscow, even when bribed, so they eventually gave her up and decided to walk to Russia's place.

"You would think," Ireland said through gritted teeth, "that he would pick a better place to settle. It's out in the middle of _feckin'_ nowhere!"

"Quit your griping, Patty, and catch up already," Canada yelled back. "I don't think it's much farther!" He pulled out a map to see if he was right, then swore. "Darn it!" he said. "We could probably get there from Smolensk, but that's not for another 3 days!" Scotland took a break. "Aye. We should probably wait for our brothers, then take an extended breather. Where the bloody hell are we, anyway?"

Referring to the map once again, Canada said, "We're about a day out from the Belarus-Russia border. Let's set that as our first target, then make a break for it. Lordy knows how much Soviet Russia's been at work."

When Ireland and Wales caught up, they were both in states of exhaustion, albeit for different reasons.

"_No… Guinness… for… days…_" Ireland moaned as he passed out.

Wales was heartsick. "I want New Zealand here with me," he groaned. "Her _wonderfully_ soft hair…"

"Alright, mate, we're going to stop you there before we say TMI," Canada said, interrupting Wales' ramblings. He looked around- nothing but fields for miles. It seemed to be safe. "Why don't we camp here for the day, Scotland?" The kilted nation seemed to be tired as well. "Aye," he said before falling asleep.

* * *

As Norway, America, and Confederate America reached Poland's house, everyone seemed to be in various states of panic. Hungary, for once, was relieved to see America, but then the rare smile disintegrated when he saw Confederate America.

"What?!" he yelled. "America, we don't need anybody else, least of all _him!_"

"Oh, that's nice," Confederate America said indignantly. "If you knew why I was here, you'd be _beggin'_ me to stay, but I guess since you want me to leave so bad, I will…"

He started to walk the opposite direction, but America stopped him. Also, he had successfully guilt-tripped Hungary into convincing him to stay.

"Alright, _you,_" Hungary said. "You're going to explain, in detail, what you're talking about to everyone."

Confederate America made himself comfortable in an armchair and said, "No problem. I know where Sister America is."

Everyone gasped.

"And just how would you know that?" Czech Republic piped up, eying America's brother with suspicion.

"Because I told them," Norway said with incredible guilt.

"WHAT?" Sweden yelled. "_WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US?!_"

"Because I didn't have an opportunity to!" Norway yelled back, this time slightly tearful. "But that's no matter. The point is that we must not rescue her."

At that, everyone looked at him like he was insane. The first person to respond to him was actually his brother.

"He's right," Iceland said. "I bet that Nazi Germany's using her as bait. What we need to do is form a coherent plan rather than just sending people on kamikaze runs. Speaking of which, has anyone heard from the Celtic countries?"

Lots of shrugs and "I dunno"s and "No"s.

"Wonderful," Hungary said. "We need to convene a War Council. At this point, we have no idea what we're doing, and if we don't come up with something and fast we'll all be wearing red." Sweden, concurring, called the meeting. Shortly, they had what remained of the group that Poland had initially assembled.

"Okay, guys," Hungary announced. "This is an open forum. We need all the ideas we can get. Everyone here gets an opinion. So, with that said, let this commence. Sweden and I will moderate."

* * *

"What's the status of Poland?" Germany asked.

Norway said, mildly unsettled, "Switzerland said that he'll need grafts and emergency fluid replacement, because he lost a lethal amount of blood. He said that if Poland doesn't make a drastic comeback, he has two days to live."

That was a sobering thought, one that even Poland's bitter rivals had to come to terms with. At the best, the reaction was staring placidly at the ground, like Hungary and Germany; at worst, it was watery eyes, like Sister Sweden.

"Well, then," Sweden continued, a little shaky. "Who's next?"

There was a pause before Confederate America asked, "Who exactly are we up against?"

"Based on our last intel," Hungary said, "Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia are confirmed. It is suspected that Nazi Germany and Austria have reignited the Anschluß, via a third party that remains unconfirmed."

Kaiser Germany growled, "Oh, I know who it is." Germany assumed an expression of annoyance. "Oh no, not him!"

The father and son shared a _you-know-who-I'm-talking-about, Oh-God-why_ exchange of looks.

"Do you have something to share, Kaiser?" Hungary asked.

Kaiser Germany, despite his son's protests, said, "Oh, yes. My grandson might be behind that deal."

The Scandinavians, as well as several others, looked at Germany.

"You have a kid?" Denmark said, with an almost horrified expression. "NO," Germany said emphatically. "He's my sister's kid, and he doesn't live with us. He and I… don't get along."

Hungary looked pleadingly at Kaiser Germany. "Could you please tell us who you're talking about?"

"Bavaria," Kaiser Germany said with the same air someone would use when referring to a relative that they wish they weren't related to.

The Czechoslovakians groaned. "Ugh," Slovakia said. "He's gross. Drinks too much."

"For once, I'm going to agree with her," Czech Republic said flatly. "He's annoying. I'd be more than willing to bet that he had a hand in all of this; he does have a tendency to get a little cozy with the Nazis and Austria. He also drunk-dials France a bit, from what I've heard." America, who had been (up until this point) fidgeting with one of Hungary's Rubix Cubes, suddenly paid attention. "Who drinks a lot, plays nice with Nazis, and drunk-dials France?"

A collective groan and rolling of eyes.

"Bavaria, my nephew," Germany said ashamedly.

"Dude, I _love_ him!" America said. "We hung out so much after the last war! We drank beer and ate pretzels and bratwurst until we _puked!_"

"I know," Germany grumbled. "I had to clean it up and send him to military school over it."

America patted him on the back. "Dude, it's okay. Him and me are like _this_, man. A couple of beers and this should be all ironed out." Germany looked at him with a pleading expression. "I, uh, wouldn't do that, America," he said. "He's liable to turn you over to... to _him_." And then Kaiser and America had to keep Germany from collapsing. Hungary treated it like a common occurrence.

"Okay, so Bavaria is a suspect," he said, redirecting everyone's attention to the front. "Anyone else?" Denmark, who had remained suspiciously calm and quiet for the majority of the time, asked the golden question.

"Are we at war?"

"I think the better question would be, 'who's willing to go to war?'" Sweden said. "We all have different motivations and reasons."

Norway concurred. "Let's see hands. As Hungary said earlier, everyone gets an opinion."

"Who would be willing to go to war?" Hungary asked. The hands raised were the Czechoslovakians, Slovenia, Croatia, Germany, Kaiser Germany, Sealand, America, Hungary himself, the Denmarks, Norways, Icelands, Sister Sweden, and Sister Finland. That left the Nordic children, as well as one notable exception.

"Holding out again, eh, Sweden?" Denmark said with more than a little contempt. "Waving the flag of neutrality while shipping iron to Nazi Germany and letting him mess up Norway's garden? Sitting comfortably at home with your boyfriend knowing that his cousins are fending off a Soviet invasion of your land?"

Sweden sat there quietly.

"Meanwhile, Nazi Germany will be living off of Norway and I, starving him and oppressing me, while you just sit quietly and not bother yourself with anything!"

His voice was reaching a dull roar by now.

"What chutzpah you must have to not do anything, while you friends sacrifice their freedoms to keep you protected!" And with that, he keeled over, bottle in hand. Sweden looked at his passed-out friend with a look of guilt and fear.

Greenland let out a low whistle. "I wonder how long he's been holding that in?" he said, looking at his fellow colony with a raised brow. "Regardless, that was a pretty dick move, Sweden," Faroes said. "You know damn well that every Nordic in this room- and some that aren't- are going to occupied by either England or Nazi Germany."

"Or Soviet Russia, if we don't hurry up and do something about it," Hungary said, mildly impatient. "So, are you in or not, Sweden? We need to make a decision."

"I'm in," Sweden said quietly. Åland silently cursed.

"Okay. Let's adjourn for sleep," Hungary said, yawning. "It's already pretty late, so we should wait until the morning before making any big decisions."

And with that, the new European alliance went to bed, knowing full well that war was only a handful of days away.

* * *

_The reason America and Bavaria get along so well is because when West Germany was divided among England, France, and the U.S, America got the Bavarian sector. That's why our (American) view of Germany is lederhosen and bratwurst._

_Even though Sweden was officially neutral, they did concede some stuff to the Nazis, such as copious amounts of iron ore that kept the Nazi war machine going._


	14. Not Your Parents' Love Boat

Finland was, to put it bluntly, not having the best time in the world. Estonia, now on her fourth day of pregnancy, had started experiencing the beautiful stage of gestation known as "morning sickness", and known colloquially by Finland as "barfing out one's intestinal tract".

The destroyer he had commandeered was now passing Latvian shores. He kept checking the coast, and the Soviet flag remained flying. Everything seemed peaceful. All Finland needed to do now was to slip by unseen, which was easier said than done.

The boat was pretty nice- for a warship- and had decent firepower. When she wasn't heaving her guts out into the Baltic, Estonia was running the radar, checking for planes and missiles. Finland was piloting. He had a watch on the coast, keeping tabs on the coastal Soviet garrison that could easily blast them from there.

So far, nothing. It was just dawn, so it was doubtful that they would notice them before the ship was out of reach. He sighed, and joined Estonia on the prow. He set a course for home, but going in a different way as to avoid detection.

Estonia, for the moment, seemed rather composed for someone who had spent the majority of last night and the morning with a bad case of the upchucks. She stared off into the far distance, probably wondering the same thing as Finland was: _How the hell did I get into this mess? _He still wasn't entirely sure what his relationship with _her _was; he was simply along for the inevitably rocky ride of parenthood.

Even though they sometimes drove him to literally drink, he truly missed the antics of zany, drunken Denmark; contemplative, noble Norway; prudish, sage Sweden; and psychotic, balls-to-the-wall-insane Iceland. And he _especially _missed his mistress. But at the same time, he enjoyed the bonus time with Estonia. Surprisingly, she turned out to be a mix of all of the Nordics, as their little adventure turned out.

The second they had pulled out of Gdánsk, she made Finland swear to a code that curbed his intake of alcohol to one container of Finnish or Estonian vodka a day. Not only this, but it also forced him to ditch the knife except at night; the rationale was that they were surrounded by huge guns and a small armory down in the sailors' hold; therefore, he didn't need the knife. Finland agreed to the deal, but forced some concessions out of Estonia: the deal was off once they reached Helsinki, as well as agreement to help fend off the inevitable Soviet invasion of his homeland. He also made her swear to not drink _at all_, expounding on his private fears back at Poland's. At this last one, Estonia had snorted.

"I was planning on it already, _jobu_. Also, I'm on your side, remember? We're in this thing _together." _

Finland conceded with a grunt of agreement, then went off to arm the guns.

The next day at breakfast, he had enjoyed his self-rationed shot of vodka and was working on a bread roll. She sat next to him and proceeded to wax philosophical about war, pigeons, and man's base nature, in that order. Then, leaving the land of Cerebral, she kissed him on the cheek. As she left the room, he slowly turned and looked at her as if she was a retarded lion. Shrugging, he returned to his roll and applied a decent amount of butter, contemplating what the heck just happened.

Later that day, she asked if he wanted to shoot the breeze. Not much of a conversationalist, Finland glared.

Rather than rolling her eyes, she just went off. Pretty soon, he heard sounds coming from the roof.

She had climbed onto the upperworks and was perched on top of the cabin with a bag of salmiakki. Feeling kind of guilty for being such a curmudgeon (as well as wanting salmiakki), he joined her, partaking in the candy.

He could tell it was Finnish-made: hard, a shockingly strong anise flavor, quite salty, and as black as Tuonela.

It was a huge fresh package, so he knew they had a bit to go off of. The dark blue bag read _Turkinpippuri_, and he smiled. It was one of his favorite treats as a child.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Estonia said. Finland shook his head. "Do you talk at all?" A nod. "Can you talk in Finnish to me? Remember, I know it as well as you."

Finland said, "_Oh, fine." _

Estonia smiled. "I knew you had it in you," she said gleefully.

"_You know, you can be a real pest sometimes_," Finland said while Estonia giggled.

"I know," she said. "That's why you love me, isn't it?"

Suddenly feeling awkward, Finland managed to say, "_Um, yeah, about that…_"

The giggling stopped. Estonia looked at Finland with an expression he didn't think she was capable of making. It bored into his eyes, and was full of icy daggers.

"You do love me, right?" she said, not a little threatening. Finland got a little shifty. "_Um, yeah, sure_," he said.

She eyed him carefully, then said, "Okay. Then jump off this roof."

Finland peered over the edge. It was probably a good twenty-foot drop to the narrow strip of metal that was the floor, and then the ocean. He sighed, then jumped.

He overshot by about two inches, but it was enough for him to have to grab the rail to prevent himself becoming fish food. He flipped himself over and took a deep breath.

Looking up at Estonia, who seemed to have had a panic attack, she jumped down and constricted him. He frowned. _The things one does in the name of love._

* * *

Anyway, this morning was going to be the beginning of something new. He could feel it. He relented and let Estonia cuddle up as the boat steamed home. The quiet sunrise was to not last for as long as he wanted.

_CRACK._

_BOOM._

Even though it missed, the missile skated across the prow, and our two quasi-lovebirds were suddenly shaken out of their reverie. Finland ran to a gun and prepared to fire, but Estonia beat him to it. "Suck my guns, Red!" she yelled as she swiveled the gun towards shore and fired. Finland saw the garrison take a direct hit, and it did some damage, although not to the massive cannons that were now firing upon them with regularity.

_CRACK. _

_CRACK. _

_CRACK. _

_BOOM CRACK BOOM CRACK._

Shit.

He went to town, Estonia helping on the top. They were now matching the Soviet gunfire, drumming the garrison with the big guns. Even so, it was getting pretty sticky, and Finland took advantage of a break in the firing to do something he didn't do often: calling for help.

* * *

Hungary had a cot set up in the technology room, in case something happened. On this harsh but sufficing surface, he alternated between sleep and pacing, wondering when someone was going to step one toe out of line and plunge the continent into World War III. Anyway, he was sleeping this morning when he heard something.

_Ping._

_Ping._

_Ping._

_Ping._

It sounded like an incoming radio transmission, and he groggily sat up and checked its status. He immediately frowned severely, and flipped several switches and knobs to try and clean it up. Applying the headset, he listened to it for all of ten seconds, then tried to clear up the transmission. He recorded the transmissions, downloaded them onto a thumb drive, and called the council.

Nations in varying states of awakedness wandered into the living room to see what Hungary was all in a fluster about.

Hungary produced a laptop and a thumb drive. Tapping on the keyboard, he pulled up the recordings and called everyone's attention.

"About 15 minutes ago, I received these radio transmissions on a bizarre frequency that I've never seen before. It's apparently used to communicate to and from warships. Not only this, but they seem to transmitting gobbledegook. I can't, for the life of me, make out what's being said." He played the first transmission.

Sweden said, "Is it possible to clean that up? It might just help enough." He played around with the sound editor and said, "Give that a try."

It sounded clearly, but the transmission itself appeared to be nonsense, at least that anyone could figure. They played it over and over trying to decipher it. Then Åland thought of something.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Lower the pitch frequency a little bit." Now, the voice was readily familiar to everybody, especially to Åland. He heard that voice not very often, but it was unmistakable.

"_Joka saa tämän, olemme tarvitsevat nopeaa sotilaallista tukea! Meitä kuoritut yksi Neuvostoliiton Venäjän siirtokunnat! Nimike kotiin. Yli!_" A deafening explosion rang through, then the comm went out.

The next one sounded more dire. "_Hemmetti, me tarvitsemme tulivoimaa nyt! Tämä sota on ammukset, ja ne vain pitää tulossa! Emme voi pitää pois paljon kauemmin! Hanki perse tänne, nyt!_"

"Oh, son of a _szuka_," Hungary groaned. "That's how they left! They took a destroyer! Great. Now he's sending signals in Finnish, which I don't know."

"I do," Åland said, his expression souring.

He sat down with the headset and a writing pad, and as the transmission played, he rapidly jotted down a rough translation. As he did, he face grew paler.

"Okay, here's what I got. The first one was a basic call for aid. They're getting shelled by one of Soviet Russia's outposts and need help."

"The second one was basically the same, but with more colorful language. They've run out of ammo and they're not quite out of range yet. They're heading for home, which I can only assume means his- er, ours."

Åland swore. "_Perkele!_" he growled. "We need to find where they are now, and we need to open a fresh line of communication." Hungary scowled. "That's easier said than done," he said. "I can trace the approximate location of where the transmission came from, but it won't tell us if they're still there or at the bottom of the Baltic."

Sister Sweden responded with a frown, "Please don't say that."

Hungary was able to pinpoint the source- just off the coast of Latvia. "We don't have any drones, so we'll just have to use the next best thing." He pulled up Google Maps and set it into satellite mode. "Fortunately for us, these are fresh images." Zooming in, they were able to see a sizable fort that had a range of fire that was quite impressive. "Okay, so we know that they were probably right around here," he said, pointing to an area just to the southwest of the island of Saaremaa. "That means that by now, if they've continued going full speed, they'll be right around here." He pointed to an area of the Baltic Sea between Estonia's outer islands and Finland. Just then, he heard the pinging sound coming from upstairs. "_Ne fesd az ördögöt_," he said, and ran upstairs, the other three closely behind.

"This is Fleet Comm Line source, Hungary speaking," Hungary said. The transmission was much clearer, and the voice sounded angry. It also sounded feminine.

"Where the hell were you guys? We were sending help relays and nobody answered!" Estonia said angrily.

Hungary responded in kind. "Well, next time you need help, don't send the relays in Finnish!"

Estonia balked, and then switched her tone. She sounded alarmingly like France. "Well, I never! Now you listen here, mister! I didn't run away with my crush just to get blasted by Ol' Red Eyes! Now, I want someone to destroy that garrison and any others we may encounter, _viivitamatult!_" Hungary was put to shame.

"Why, she's coming into her own, now, isn't she?" Sister Sweden said, impressed. She would worry about what Estonia and Finland's relation later. Right now, there was a job to be done.

"Well, who's going to respond?" she said.

Hungary sighed. "I will. I also kinda want to pound the shit out of Soviet Russia anyway, to tell you the truth. I'm tired of just sitting. I'm going to _do_." And with that, he left the house.

As he flew over the Baltic states, he noticed that only Latvia was showing the obvious signs of Soviet occupation. _That's curious_, he thought as he lowered himself underneath the cloud layer. He knew that Soviet Russia's outdated technology wouldn't detect him until it was too late. So imagine his surprise when he was barely able to escape two anti-aircraft missiles.

"What the-?" he exclaimed as he dove down. He saw the guns on the ground, and knew he was in trouble. They were heat-seeking guided missiles. As they came back for the return, he got in a quick strafe before having to pull up out of the cloud layer. As they closed in for the kill, they exploded. Having no idea what happened, he just counted his blessings and strafed again, this time knocking out the garrison's guns and setting the place on fire. "Yes! That's for 1956!" he yelled, then flew back home. Mission accomplished.

* * *

Estonia and Finland were huddled in the engine room. They had barely made it there with their belongings. The upperworks and all radio apparatus- as well as mostly anything else- had been blown to shit by the sustained pounding the ship had taken.

There, in a pulsing green light, Estonia was latched to Finland like a barnacle, refusing to come off. Finland coaxed her out and said, "_We should probably go check it out above._" The deck was still functional. Good thing too, because they were barreling straight for Turku. It would be safer to land there and get home than to sail to Helsinki. Despite the electronics being out of commission, Finland was still able to steer. He slowed it down, and the boat slowly slinked into port.

The town was still functional. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. It was only a short jaunt home, but Finland refused to let down his guard. Just because his second city was unscathed didn't mean that anywhere else was. However, when they reached Finland's house, indeed nothing was wrong. Helsinki was pretty as ever.

They entered Finland's house, and it looked exactly the same as it had when everyone had left. Still suspicious, he overloaded the circuits and overrode all electronics just in case some little listening device had been planted in the house. When he was convinced that it was clear, he waved Estonia into the house, then bolted the door and pulled all weapons out of storage.

The house was slowly warming up, and Finland made Estonia a space out of Åland's room, figuring that his cousin wouldn't be returning for a while. He conveniently hid the duct tape and rope that Åland had stashed under his bed, lest she get any ideas.

Finally, he prepared some food. They had had to subsist on paltry and non-nourishing naval rations, so the comfort of home food became readily apparent. The main problem facing Finland was what to prepare for his pregnant… well, for ease of writing, she might as well be _girlfriend_. Looking in his fridge, he saw lots of fish and eggs. _Well, this'll have to do,_ he prayed. He made a true-blue-and-white Finnish banquet, with everything from egg dishes to fish dishes to- of course- bread and mämmi. He then invited Estonia downstairs to partake in his feast. When she saw the display that Finland had prepared, a smile spread across her weary face. "Oh, Finland! Thank you so much, I've been _famished!_" And to his astonishment, she ate copious, borderline excessive, amounts of food. Even Denmark and Netherlands would only ransack half of Belgium's pantry when they had their toking sessions. Within the next half-hour, she had eaten two-thirds of the food Finland had prepared. He was more amazed than upset, since she had still left him with plenty of leftovers.

After packing the rest and storing it in the fridge for tomorrow, she and Finland did the dishes. Then they collapsed onto the sofa and proceeded to play Angry Birds for two hours. When it got to be late, she stood up, kissed Finland on the forehead, and said, "_Head ööd,_ dear." She vanished upstairs, and Finland was left alone.

He felt dreadfully alone. Even though he spent most of his time with Estonia, the sudden lack of other Nordics threw him off his normal kilter, as it were. Sighing with a hint of depression, he took a hard hit from his vodka bottle and retreated into the warmth of bed, wondering what was happening to his friends.

* * *

Just as it happened to be, they were wondering what had become of him.

"Has he run off forever?" Denmark said, swigging from one of Kaiser Germany's ales and cradling Norway in his lap. "With _Estonia?_ Doubtful, although I do suspect they're up to something. This is highly irregular," Sweden said, a little more flustered than usual. His boyfriend was wondering the same thing. "Something happened between them," he said. The others looked at him. "Well, we know that," Norway said. "The question is just what?" Åland cleared his throat. "They had a tryst, for starters."

Denmark spat out the ale, Norway shot straight up, Sweden's mouth dropped open, and Iceland shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I went into the room to take a nap. Next thing I know, Estonia's screaming and kicks my cousin off her bunk. I wake up to find him stark naked. I half suspected, but that was the clincher. Maybe they're too embarrassed?" Denmark sat up a little straighter. "To be honest, if I had been physically involved with Estonia, I wouldn't want to show my face around others for a while," he wisecracked as he drank his ale. Åland had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop the laughter at the source, and patient Norway said, "Hey, that's mean."

"Whatever the case," Sweden said, "They're gone now, and we can only hope that they're okay. We can't worry about them right now; maybe when we get out of this quagmire we can worry about their welfare." But Iceland, the only Nordic who knew the whole truth, said, "A toast, though."

Everyone raised the beverage they were consuming- ale, beer, vodka, brennevin.

"To Finland and Estonia," he said simply. "May the Gods be with them."

"_Skål,_" was the dismal reply.

* * *

_This was an experiment to see if I could stay with only a small handful of characters rather than, say, fifteen. I'd say it worked well- it was an interesting lesson in character development._

_About Finland talking: I put his words in italics to show that he's not speaking English, but rather Finnish, to keep him in character. I'm not going to include full translations anymore, or even of words. You're smart people. Use Google Translate. For the record, Estonia speaks Estonian, not Finnish. Keep that in mind when translating her words._

_Salmiakki, as I briefly mentioned before, is an incredibly popular treat in Nordic Europe, and even in some Germanic countries like Germany and the Netherlands. It's essentially black licorice soaked in ammonium chloride, which makes it incredibly salty. The particular variety Finland (the character) likes is in lozenge form and is also made with pepper._

_Please favorite, follow, and/or review! I love reviews almost as much as I do classical music and black licorice!_


	15. Blowing Up

The next day was filled to the brim with nervous anticipation throughout the Polish camp. It was supposed to be the day that Poland would return dead or alive, and the atmosphere was understandably tense. It also didn't help that, according to Sweden, this was now (technically) the second day of the war declaration, they had also (technically) attacked Soviet Russia, and Nazi Germany had attacked _them, _so (technically) they were (technically) at war (technically). Or so he explained.

They decided to clean up the place for Poland; it would be the thoughtful thing to do. Plus, the didn't want to worry about the inevitable. So that's what they did for the majority of the day- split up into work parties.

The Swedes revamped his room, installing sleek shelving and closet space. They dusted off relics and artifacts for display, and meticulously alphabetized his book selection, most of which was in Polish. They repaired his bed frame, replacing the beaten and worn out mattress with a bigger, softer one, as well as taking the ratty bicolour blanket and putting out a large, fresh, and new bicolour quilt, handmade by Sister Norway. She and her brother were reorganizing Poland's pantry and fridge, getting rid of old and expired items. Sister Denmark was also in the kitchen, preparing pastry and keeping the counters tidy. Czech Republic and Denmark had set out a cooler full of fine Czech and Danish craft beers. The two former Yugoslav nations were busy tidying and organizing Poland's plethora of religious apparati, since they knew how to better than anyone else in the group. Lithuania and Slovenia went to work on crafting a large banner for everyone to sign. The Germans worked the garden, replacing water in the birdbaths, cleaning off his bench, and doing harvest work to clear out space for the spring. That left the American brothers, Hungary and Sister Finland. Hungary was doing everyman work: basic maintenance, vacuuming, sweeping, taking out trash and recycling. Sister Finland and Confederate America were working on a special beverage just for Poland, and America was preparing a massive gift basket.

It was all very good. They figured that even though they all felt quite differently about the guy, they respected his hard work and dedication to the group.

That afternoon, everyone was laying around, waiting anxiously. Feet were tapping, knuckles were being cracked, hair was spun around fingers, solitaire was played, and ceiling patterns were studied. Minutes seemed like hours, almost as if the God of Time himself was slowing down everything.

Finally, Sister Sweden's phone rang, and _Lay Your Love on Me _blared to life. She nervously withdrew it.

Accepting the call, she put it on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

"Hello?" she said, her voice wavering.

"Switzerland, is this thing on?" came Poland's voice.

Cheers erupted from the house.

"Is your end on speakerphone?" Poland said.

"Um, yeah," Sister Sweden responded.

"Oh. Um… I'm gonna need a ride home," came the response. "Who can come quickly?" Denmark thought about exploiting Poland's Freudian slip, but decided against it.

America responded. "I'll get you home, bro-ski. Give me half an hour."

Upon arriving at Switzerland's, America was the one to greet Poland. He looked like he'd been through hell (to be fair, he had), but didn't overall too worse for wear. America gave him a pat on the back and said, "It's nice seeing you again, Poland. We were worried sick." Considering the last Poland had seen of America was when he had called him weak and an incompetent leader, this was a radical change. "I'll even let you fly copilot," America said in the same tone that a parent might offer their kid ice cream in. Poland got onto America's luxury plane, put on the headset, and cranked up the heat. He was ready to go home.

As they flew home, Poland sat tacitly. America spoke first. "Hey, look, I was kind of a dick to you last time," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry. Especially now that, you know…" He gesticulated to try and show what he was thinking. Poland nodded quietly. The rest of the flight was spent in silence as Poland stewed in his emotional cauldron, not sure what to expect. He had been gone three days, but it felt like three years. When he got off the plane, the first thing he noticed was how _nice _the front yard looked. Everything had been trimmed and tidied. _I haven't gotten to that in months, _he thought. But, of course, he hadn't seen the inside.

When he stepped in his house, every cannon and tank he had lining his fortified wall fired blanks. "WELCOME HOME!" everyone shouted.

Poland fainted. Sister Sweden caught him. "Aw, man!" Denmark moaned. "Maybe it was too much all at once?" Poland's eyes fluttered open. He caught his breath, then looked up to see Sister Sweden's overjoyed face. "Oh, hello there," he said with a big smile. "I've missed your laugh." Chuckling, she hugged him tightly. He looked around and noticed that there were some people he didn't recognize. "Oog. I feel awful. Goodnight, everyone." And they watched the beleaguered nation wander up the stairs.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," America said loudly. "Isn't he going to enj-" Sister Sweden clapped a hand over his mouth. "He can still hear you!" she hissed. "Besides, if you just got out of the hospital and haven't been home for a while, you'd be tired too!"

Poland sleepily opened his door… and his jaw dropped. They had fixed everything! His floor was no longer a mass of clutter and dust, he had a new bed, and everything was organized! Speechless, he collapsed on his newfound bed and fell asleep.

Sister Sweden went upstairs and peeked in. He was happily passed out and seemed content. Smiling, she closed the door and went back downstairs. Then she thought about it, and returned back. She quietly entered his room, kissed him on the forehead, then left.

She sighed, then joined her brother and his boyfriend downstairs. Sweden looked at her. "Is he finally asleep?" he asked, as if Poland was a stubborn child. Sister Sweden disapproved of her brother's tone. She pursed her lips and said, "Yes."

Sweden humphed. "You know, I don't like how you two are feigning this whole 'relationship' thing. Everyone can see through it, you know that right? So, what really happened that day?"

She considered telling the truth, but she chastised herself for thinking that; it would be unfair to Poland, who needed a secret-keeper. "I'm not going to tell you," she said matter-of-factly. "It wouldn't be right. It's his private stories and their not for me to tell."

Sweden reddened. "Look, it's our right to know. If it's prying, then I'm okay with you not saying anything. But something happened with the two of you. That's not really _his_ privacy."

Sister Sweden wrestled with the thought. On one hand, it had involved her, so it was her discretion to whom she released that detail; on the other hand, it was something she didn't really want to tell anyone, for it was really scary and something she didn't want to remember. But before she could say anything, Sweden had galumphed off.

"What's he going to do?" Sister Sweden said, worried.

Åland replied, "Who knows? He sort of loses himself when he gets angry."

Sister Sweden said, "Angry? I just want to tell him about my life!"

Åland raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know."

Sister Sweden rolled her eyes, then took off her dress to get in the thermal bath. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Åland said nonchalantly. "Iceland's in there, and he ramped up the temperature to emulate his hot springs. You'll last all of ten seconds before spontaneously combusting. Trust me, we know." He pointed to a perfectly boiled egg that was randomly sitting on a table.

"Well, _fuck_ that," she growled. "I've had enough with people today. I could use a volcanic bath." And with a fantastic flourish, she stripped down and plunged into the literally boiling bath. Sure, it could have cooked pasta before you could say "Mussolini", but when you're frustrated with the world you don't get picky.

* * *

Sweden, on the other hand, had no intention of cooling down. His sister was hiding something from him, and even though he couldn't physically harass his sister, he had no qualms about doing it to her friend. That's what said country's purpose was, anyway… if something went wrong, blame it on Poland.

Poland was happily dreaming away. What was he dreaming about? Well, about being happy. Nobody bothering him anymore. Not having to fix Czechoslovakia's problems. Then, the dreamcast went to static, and woke up suddenly to discover himself in Sweden's headlock. _At least he bathes_, Poland thought.

"Alright, Polski, I'll give you one chance to comply," came Sweden's growl.

"First off," Poland squeaked, "It's _Polska_." The snide remark earned him a tighter headlock. He felt the windpipe becoming constricted, and he starting to take small gasps of air. "Second off, what are you talking about?"

Sweden chuckled. "Oh, please don't play dumb, or I'll get even more angry." All of a sudden, Poland felt something surge upwards from his abdomen through his gut and up. Not knowing what he was doing, he grasped Sweden's arm and ripped. Sweden, taken by surprise, tried to repossess Poland's skull, but then a sharp pain radiated from his right hand. As he yelled in agony from being bitten, Poland bolted and ran down the stairs three at a time, breathing hard.

The manner of his arrival- as well as Sweden's cry of pain- had risen everyone present out of the lull that had settled over the house. As Sister Sweden turned to see what all the commotion was about, Poland took a dive over her head into the bath. Just then, Sweden followed. As Poland resurfaced, Sweden grabbed him by the throat and chucked him out. Iceland floated up from the depths with a look of mild annoyance. "Really, guys?" he said as he pulled a demon out of the pool. "I was sleeping." Ignoring him and blinded by rage, Sweden stood over Poland, ready to inflict some sort of punishment.

Then, to the amazement of everyone there, Poland unfurled from the fetal position. He had a glint in his eyes that alarmed some people; it was the look of a possessed man.

Sweden laughed. "Oh, Poland, what could you do to me? Are you going to try and poison me with mediocre vodka? Strangle me with a rosary?" Then Poland, having had enough, rose to meet Sweden. Raising his right arm, he waved it in the sign of a large cross while singing a mystical hymn: "_Peregrinus expectavi, pedes meos in cymbalis!_" All of a sudden, a black spirit rushed screaming out of thin air, knocking Sweden flat on his back. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the vaporous image of a black cross, and a poisonous stench, hanging in the air. Poland crashed to his knees, and Sweden looked at him with an expression of shock. Come to think of it, everyone was.

Then, he spoke. Well, more like screamed.

"I'm tired of it all! I'm tired of having to play doormat to all of you! I'm a nation too! Do I not have feelings, wants, needs, and desires? Do I not work tirelessly all day, as you do? Do I not do everything you do? What makes me so different? Why must you treat me worse than your friends?"

He pointed an accusatory finger at Sweden. "You!" he said poisonously, "Why do you hate me so? Do you have any idea what I've been through the last three days? DO YOU?" He ripped off his shirt to reveal a slightly bony figure. He turned around, and it made Germany scream, Denmark hide, Croatia cross himself, and Norway to say, "What in the hell?" His back was laden with red marks, but what stood out were eight lines that formed a large, crude swastika.

"I've been worse than branded," Poland said. "I've been marked for murder. This is a Nazi death warrant. If I'm found by either Soviet Russia or Nazi Germany, I'm going to be gassed." He stood shakily on his two legs, leaning on a chair as a crutch. Retching horribly, he manage to utter, "You want to know everything, do you? You want to know all of the things that are happening? Well, I'll tell you! I love your sister, okay? There, I've said it," he spat. "I love her! I was about to commit suicide up there several days ago, and she saved me! And now I have these… these _feelings!"_ The tears were now flowing freely from Poland's face. "I don't know what to do with them! They feel… _alien and unnatural!_ And, and _wrong!_ I don't know what to do! I don't ever know what to do! I feel like I'm running around blind, desperately grasping for what I think is hope and security! But all I find is despair and pain!" Breathing heavily, Poland leaned harder.

"Somebody will listen to me! Somebody…" then he collapsed.

* * *

_Oh, Sweden. Sometimes he explodes. But you need to be careful when prodding Poland, because he can, too._

_Polska is Poland in Polish._

_The weird Latin chant is from an old Soviet movie about the great Russian hero Alexander Nevsky, who fended off the Teutonic Knights, who were sort of like a medieval ISIS and are represented here by a black cross (their symbol). Even though Poland has a very negative memory of them, the Teutonic Knights left an indelible impression on the young nation._


	16. Better Dead Than Red

Half an hour later, the two formerly bickering nations were sitting on opposite sides of the room. Poland, shivering and sobbing, was being fed hot tea by Sister Sweden, who rubbed his back. Her brother was bent over with his head in his hands.

"Oh, God," he moaned. "Why did it have to happen to Poland? I'm such an asshole!" His boyfriend responded, "Yes, you can be. You need to work on controlling your temper, sweetie, or someone else is going to be hurt."

Sweden looked at the battered nation sitting across from him. "Oh my God, Poland, I'm so sorry," he said, embarrassed and cowed.

Poland shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. I think we all had some stuff we were hiding. It just needed to come out."

"Well, the most important thing now is that we can now get back to work and learn to operate as a _team_," Sister Sweden said, looking daggers at both of them. "Now, I did some looking. Poland, my brother is the only one of your former aggressors that you haven't signed a treaty with. I'd be more than willing to supervise the signing of one, that way you two can get back to normal."

"Sounds great," said Hungary, who had just finished stewing some fruit. "But you need a neutral third party for a treaty. You're Sweden's sister, and that might lead to worries about coercion. I'll be the summit host." Sister Sweden bowed respectfully, and the Magyar sat down with some parchment and started writing in English.

"There, one ready-to-sign treaty. The basic 'I won't mess with your stuff if you don't mess with mine' deal." Sweden took a quick perusal, then signed his name. Poland took a little more time, for he was suspicious of treaties, even when written by his best friend, because of "treaties" he had signed before. He found the conditions satisfactory, though, and added his name to the bottom. Hungary rolled it up and said happily, "I'll go file this with the UN and King EU when this whole mess is cleaned up. Meanwhile, I expect both parties to hold their oath." He glared pointedly at Poland and Sweden, then went upstairs.

In the meantime, the two former longtime rivals decided to take the little extra time they had and bond. It might be the best thing to do.

They shared each other's stories from their childhoods, and discovered that they had a few things in common. They had both fought against the Teutonic State, and they had both fought in the Thirty Year's War, albeit on different sides. They also had a proud tradition of setting a cultural example for their respective regions, and often had to play "responsible leader" with their fellow nations (much to their chagrin).

Sister Sweden, glad to see the two former enemies getting along, went to Hungary and asked, "Any news from the East?" He shook his head. "I haven't gotten as much as a flare from Canada's group. The last notice I got from them was when they were on the Russian/Belarusian border. After that, silence."

* * *

Well, it was far from quiet where the others were at.

Scotland held his claymore at the ready, Canada not far behind with a crossbow. They hid behind an abandoned peasants' house.

"Where do you think they took them to?" Canada asked worriedly.

"The 'ell if I know," Scotland growled, flexing his sword arm reflexively. He scrunched up his nose. "God, it smells bleedin' awful," he said, scowling.

Canada concurred. "Urgh! Smells like… bodies and gunpowder!"

"Welcome to war," Scotland said.

Just then, a mortar shell careened towards them. They ducked into the hut just as the shell demolished half of it. The two nations huddled against each other under a collapsed beam. Then they heard the sound of jackboots marching through the mud.

A figure entered the ruins of the hut. Through the rubble, Canada could make out a tall, bearish figure. He wore a familiar flag, one that had only disappeared not that long ago…

He held his breath. Soviet Russia was wielding an AK-47, poking through the shredded lumber, looking for something… or someone. "Dammit, he escaped me _again_," he snarled, and turned on his heels. "Украина не здесь! Продлить периметр в Курск!" he barked to several tanks and infantry divisions. The small army then started marching to the southwest. Sighing angrily, Soviet Russia followed after them. However, the two hiding countries noticed one of the soldiers steal away without anyone noticing, not even Soviet Russia.

They were just about to come out of their hiding spot when another person busted through the debris and yanked them out. Looking up, they saw a familiar face.

"Russia?!" they both yelled.

"_Quiet, fools!" _Russia hissed.

They both became silent. "What are you doing here?"

The other nation looked around nervously, then took off his Red Army paraphernalia to reveal his torn shirt and bruised body. His trademark hat was missing. "When he arrived," Russia said, "he captured and tortured me. Threatened to make me 'disappear'. But apparently he thought I might be useful, so he threw me into Siberia. Mistake on his part. I know Siberia like the back of my hand. I overheard that they had apprehended two Western spies, and that they were looking for two others. So I busted out to get you."

"Well, thanks, I guess," Scotland said, suspicious. "So, where are we going?"

Russia smiled coldly at them. "Moscow."

"So let me get this straight," Scotland said, struggling to get accustomed in his Soviet military uniform. He shifted uncomfortably in the rigid pressed pants, which were the complete opposite of the kilt he was used to wearing.

It was quite a comical sight for Canada, as he watched his fellow nation perform a walk that looked like a cross between that of a penguin and one of his own geese.

"You're taking us to the capital, which is where our compatriots are supposed to be? Aren't there also like, oh, I don't know, buildings in which people go in but never come out?!"

"I wouldn't put it so strongly, but yes," Russia said, wiping his assault rifle and sharpening the bayonet. "We'll have to move quickly. I know where they're being held. Luckily for you, it's not Moscow itself. Unfortunately… well, you'll see."

Scotland didn't like that tone. Russia used it a lot when he was trying to hide something.

"Also," Russia continued, affixing the bayonet, "there's something that could turn the tide 180º for you guys."

That caught their attention, but Scotland remained wary. He never trusted Russia, and as a safety precaution never let his guard down against the superpower.

"Well, we best be off," Scotland said, still looking like a wooden soldier gone haywire. "It's a fair way to Moscow from here, and I can't stand these ruddy trousers for much longer." He looked pleadingly at Russia. "Please tell me we don't have to walk."

Russia smiled knowingly. "No, we don't. We'll drive." He pointed to a building not much further than half a mile away. "Please tell me you can walk a kilometer?"

"I'll try," Scotland grumbled.

Soon they were rumbling across the frozen Belarusian plains in a light utility vehicle, bouncing along the rough dirt roads towards the Soviet capital. As Russia drove, Canada and Scotland sat in the back, trying to look the closest thing to being official as they could. Whenever they got to a checkpoint, they would tip the brim of their military caps down, flash fake IDs (courtesy of Russia), and continue on. In the long pauses between, Russia filled them in on what Hungary couldn't hear through his radio.

"Soviet Russia really doesn't want anyone on the outside to know, but within his inner circles it's common knowledge that he's starting to have troubles. He's better off than Nazi Germany, but that's not saying a ton. After he took Latvia, he turned his attention to her sisters. They both went and joined you guys, as you well know." They both nodded. "Now, he didn't dare attack Finland, not after the last time. So he turned his attention to our other neighbors."

"Belarus came to us- not a big surprise, she's a little infatuated with Soviet Russia." Russia did a raised-eyebrow-and-rolled-eyes expression that said _She's a weirdo!_

"Now, the other one is a different story. He's been after Ukraine ever since this war began, but that blasted Cossack keeps evading him. That's why you two almost died. Ukrainian forces had penetrated deep into our land, and almost had Moscow, but they gave it up. Russia in the winter- nobody ever learns!" They approached a signpost that let them know that they were still a good deal from civilization. "Anyway, my… comrade has been on the warpath ever since, even though Ukraine has managed to get rather creative, bless him. Which is why now is an opportune time to sabotage that commie's war effort."

Canada tried hard to listen to Russia's ramblings, but he often found his eyes straying and focusing on random details. One detail in particular alarmed him. Whenever the vehicle went over a sizable bump, Scotland would wince and reach for a spot near his right lower ribcage. Over one particularly nasty bump, the parka came up sufficiently enough to provide Canada a glimpse of a very nasty bruise. He made a mental note to inquire about this new injury later- it was probably gained in a tussle with Ireland, but he was never sure with Scotland.

Hours passed. It was probably the most boring car ride Canada or Scotland had ever been on. Well, there was that one time Canada had to take the train through America's Midwest, but he got to experience casseroles, so it was all good. They were in the middle of sleeping when Russia exclaimed, "Ah, here we are!" The other two nations rose from their slumber to see what had Russia excited about.

They had reached Moscow. But it was a different Moscow- more drab and grey. The great cathedrals were nowhere to be seen. The red brick wall of the Kremlin stuck out like a Russian sore thumb. Neither of them had really liked Moscow to begin with, but this seemed to be everything stereotyped about Russia- grey, monolithic, and incredibly boring.

"Why couldn't he have picked St. Petersburg?" Canada wondered aloud. Russia turned around and said, "It's Leningrad now, so be careful," he warned. "And it was there… to begin with." He gave them a mysterious look before parking the car in front of a large grey building that looked identical to every other building in the whole city. But this building seemed to say, _I have corpses in my basement!_

They went by the laughably shoddy security with ease. "You would think that a building as creepy as this would have more guards than that," Scotland said warily. Russia shrugged. "This is one of the lesser important buildings, and since he's low on personnel he focuses on the more important ones." He looked over his shoulder, and said, "Wait here."

Five minutes later, he came back wielding a key. "Okay, let's get out of here before-" He was cut off by alarms blaring.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Scotland bellowed.

"Doesn't matter right now! Let's just get the heck out of here!" Russia yelled back.

They rounded a corner, only to see several NKVD officers closing off all of the exits. "Well, crud!" Canada swore. "If only we had a way to hold them off…" he thought, then gasped. Reaching into his uniform, he withdrew his crossbow and… was that a squirt gun?

"What in the-? _Canada, what are you doing?"_ Scotland asked, wielding his claymore nervously against the onslaught of Russian zombies.

The squirt gun seemed full, so Canada withdrew and started firing. Immediately, Scotland smelled the fumes of maple syrup.

The zombies, being glued to the ground with Canada's sticky, viscous syrup, were suddenly no match for Scotland's claymore and Russia's high-kicking sailor dance. Once all 15 or so zombie guards had been eliminated, they ran out of the Kremlin.

* * *

Looking around the corner, panting and looking like a hunted animal, Russia dragged them to a modest looking house. Canada's heart nearly stopped. It was Russia's house; he had been once before. But it seemed much more… gloomy.

Looking around, paranoid, Russia unlocked the door with the key he had stolen from the building. This made no sense to Canada; why would Russia have to steal a key to his own house? Entering, he suddenly realized why. The whole place made it seem like Lenin's balls had exploded. A giant yellow hammer and sickle were painted on a wall, amidst a sea of everything red. Busts of Marx and other "thinkers" decorated the living room. And a massive mural of Stalin, Lenin, and Bolshevik Russia dominated the back wall.

Russia sneaked them towards a very sketchy wooden door that seemed to yell _I don't suggest coming down here, mate_, at least to Canada. To Scotland, it said, _You wanna become haggis? Just come down into this really dark basement_. A wooden plank with СИБИРЬ scrawled on it in what seemed like pig's blood (an ironic touch, Canada noted) was nailed above the doorpost. "Um, Russia, where does that go?" he asked.

The other nation said, "Siberia."

"Er, you don't honestly expect us to go down there, do you?" Scotland said, eying the door with one hand on his claymore.

"Of course I do. Don't be silly," Russia scolded. He opened the door, and turned on a flashlight. It unveiled a stairway that seemed to lower infinitely into the darkness.

"Russia, I've been down cliff faces less steep than this," Canada remarked shakily.

"Oh, stop being such a wimp," Russia said snidely. He started down the stairs, the flashlight providing a minimal amount of light to the Cirith Ungol-esque setting. The stairs were small, narrow, slick as snot from God-knows-what (the feeble light showed something greenish brown, but Canada wasn't taking any chances), and dropped off into an endless abyss on either side. _Just like hiking in Nova Scotia_, Canada thought.

Eventually, they came to a small platform that was not much better than the stairs that led to it, with a heavy iron door blocking their way. Russia took out a small screwdriver and took the handle off. Opening it, Canada was suddenly back in Nunavut… or Russia's basement.

"As you can tell, this isn't Siberia, but just like everything about my brother, it's a half-assed cheap knockoff replacement product substantially lower in quality than the original," Russia remarked, raising an eyebrow at his two guests. They looked at him blankly. Russia sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's a fancy way of saying my brother is poor and desperately wants to be like everybody else, but doesn't have the cash," he said. Scotland and Canada caught on. "Ahhhhhh," they groaned. "We knew it was something to that effect," Scotland said.

"To that effect, mind you," Canada muttered.

The basement was certainly as cold as Siberia, but much better lit than the staircase. It was a cluttered disaster area, with artifacts collecting dust that Canada was sure belonged in a museum.

But what captured his attention immediately was the sight of their two comrades, Wales and Ireland, in jury-rigged bindings made from masking tape. "Wales and Ireland!" Scotland cried, running over to his Celtic brethren and undoing their tape. Canada was relieved to see them okay, but he felt like there was a poison in the same room, like a demon that was waiting to infect someone. The very air felt toxic, and Russia could tell Canada was getting antsy. "That's what making it feel that way," he said, pointing to a cardboard box.

Canada's eyes went to the box. It seemed so unassuming, but he knew that anything in a cardboard box hiding out in Russia's basement was there for a reason. Ignoring Russia's protests, he went over and opened the box. Suddenly, he felt like Satan himself was trying to possess him. Every atom in his body was on fire.


	17. A Knight To Remember

_For the dance music, use the Romance movement from Sergei Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kijé Suite._

* * *

Poland was getting dressed for bed when he felt it too. Like a cloud that darkens the sky just enough that you notice the slight reduction in light. His eyes flitted about the room, and he picked up his sheathed sword. He went downstairs.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; at least, as ordinary as things looked at 2 a.m. Then, all of a sudden, he heard a loud scream rushing up from behind him. Whipping out his sword, he swung around, scaring the shit out of Lithuania.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Poland cried, helping her back to her feet. She glared at him and muttered, "It's fine. What are you doing down here, anyway?"

He glanced around nervously. "Lithuania, I felt… _him_," he said, whispering the last word. She frowned and looked at him funny. "Huh? What are you going on about now-" Then she stopped. She turned around slowly, and stared at a shape that was taking form. It was black, and looked like someone they knew… but very, very different. It pointed a black staff at them and started to chant something in a language they didn't know. She screamed and hid behind Poland, who was advancing slowly with his sword. "_Poloniae ad mortem! Livonia ad mortem!" _the shape bellowed.

"_Superari te faciet Deus virtutem superans ultima, nefandis barbarus!" _Poland yelled back.

They charged each other, and then a million things happened at once. The lights turned on; Sister Sweden yelled, "What in the HELL is going on here?"; Sweden screamed; Russia and the Eastern mission members were suddenly in the center of the living room. The mysterious shadow disappeared, and Poland had to apply the brakes very quickly to avoid skewering a semi-conscious Wales.

"Okay, let's all calm the fuck down," Denmark slurred, rising from a couch. Poland turned red in the face. "Wait, you were there the whole time?" he said, thoroughly embarrassed. "Of course," the smaller nation replied, tottering along and leaning heavily on a chair. "I didn't catch much, mind you. Something about poison and weird languages, but nothing else." And he passed out. Poland then turned his attention to his Slavic cousin. "And just what are _you _doing here?" he asked impertinently. Russia looked offended. "Oh, sorry for rescuing your compatriots, risking my life in the process and bringing something that could win you the war," he said, huffing. Everyone caught that last bit. "I'm sorry, what?" Sweden said. "Did you say 'win us the war'?"

"Yes," Russia replied. He dumped a large cardboard box in front of Poland.

Poland recoiled. He could _feel _the presence of the Dark One emanating from it, he was sure. Poland looked nervously at Russia and Sister Sweden, who encouraged him. Gulping and clutching his rosary, he opened the box.

Instantly, he jumped back several feet. _No, that's impossible_, he thought. _It's a fake._

In the box were three items. One was a white bishop's miter, but instead of a gold cross it was black. Also included was a white robe with black vestments, and a staff identical to that of Vatican's… except that it was black. It was like the polar opposite of holy, and it let off an aura of evil.

Poland stared at the contents, horrified. "Where in the name of all that's holy did you get that?" he breathed. "My basement," Russia responded. "It had been sitting down there for a while. We stumbled upon it while rescuing two of their comrades. You _do _know of its power?" Russia asked pointedly of Poland. Poland weakly nodded. Russia responded in kind. "It didn't take us too long to figure it all out, so we booked here as fast as we could. Also, Wales and Ireland have been without proper care for about three days. You might want to check on them." Iceland, groaning at having to be on doctor duty yet again, took the two nations and hauled them to quarters.

Russia returned to Poland, who still looked shaken up. He wasn't the only one; Lithuania looked violently ill, and Sweden was slowly backing away. "My question for you, _comrade,_" Poland said, laced with contempt, "is why _that _was in _your _possession! It belongs with Kaiser Germany!" Russia grew red in the face. "Oh, _really_? And I suppose that's why my brother found it _in your attic_?" Poland spluttered, "When was he in my attic?" Russia looked at Poland worriedly. "You're kidding, right? How do you think he was able to generate so many meat shields during the last World War?" Poland paled. "So this is your plan," he murmured.

"Will _someone _please tell me what's going on?" a bleary-eyed Norway demanded. "It's 2:30 a.m and I'm tired, listening to two people argue over a box, and some sort of demon. This shit usually happens at home, but at least people are drunk."

"These are the vestments of the Teutonic State of Prussia," Russia explained.

Norway looked even more confused. "Wait, _Prussia _was a _priest_?"

"Okay, backing up," Russia said. "Back in the old days- and I mean _old _days, before I was born- Vatican was sending people on Crusades. That you knew. Well, after the Crusades, one Crusader in particular, a Teuton, wanted to do more for the Holy Father, so Vatican sent him up into the North. Specifically, in the area we're standing right now. At first, it wasn't terribly organized, but it was deadly. Eventually, he expanded his 'Teutonic State' all the way to Finland. He started in Poland, and terrorized the Baltic region for a couple hundred years. An uncle of mine, Novgorod, fought him, as did you, Sweden." Sweden nodded.

"He was ruthless to my people, even though they were Catholic like he was," Poland said. "He built monstrous castles near Gdansk and slaughtered citizens- my own, and Germans as well- by the droves. He would often team up with my enemies, since I was too powerful for him to take on alone. But the Baltics… what he did there was downright _nightmarish_."

"We were still in the process of digging this whole Christianity bit," Lithuania said. "Most of us, including Latvia and I, were still pagan. Estonia was Orthodox, but she wasn't spared, either." She shuddered. "He was always burning down our homes and killing the locals to try and get the two of us to convert to Catholicism. But was worse was what he did to _me_." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "He _beat _me. He would dig his fingernails into my arms just to hear me scream. He would also slash my wrists with his sword, and drip my blood over a fire; 'purging the heathen filth', he called it. I still have the scars." She showed her wrists, which had many thin, red lines up and down it. "He did the same to Latvia and Estonia."

"Holy shit, this guy's bad news," Denmark piped up. "So whatever happened to him?"

"Well, when Luther came around, the guy the Teuton had put in charge as king saw the opportunity, and the State became Lutheran and part of Germany, eventually just becoming Prussia later on. But that old Crusader spirit- that Teuton himself- lives on, partly through these," Poland said, pointing to the vestments.

"What do they do?" asked America, who had been quietly listening for once.

"To put it shortly, they give the possessor the power to raise an army of dead," Russia said. "That's how Soviet Russia was able to keep going in the last war, and it's what he was going to give Nazi Germany. Frankly, I'd rather see it in my brother's hands than Germany's sadomasochistic brother, but no matter."

Silence.

"So the war's official now, isn't it?" Sweden said wearily. "It might as well be. That way we can adequately prepare. And now we have proof they were planning to attack."

"Well, shit," Confederate America said.

And with that, the nations went back to bed, except for Russia and Poland.

"So… are you with us this time?" Poland asked warily.

Russia snorted. "Better than spending it in a gulag," he replied. "I'll do what I can." Then a puzzled look came upon his face. "Say… where are Finland and Estonia? Aren't they with you guys?"

Poland said, "They left for Finland's. Don't want to get terribly involved. I don't know what happened."

* * *

Speaking of Finland and Estonia, all was normal on their front.

Well, sort of.

Finland wasn't taking any chances. He had several of his _maakunta _hiding in trees in the surrounding forest. He had made a fortress of the house, complete with moat and oil at the ready. There was no way that Soviet Russia could invade without Finland knowing about it.

Estonia, in the meantime, seemed to be progressing normally, by now inching up on the third trimester. All seemed well. That is, until he heard the booming.

To the south, Finland heard the sounds of explosion. Knowing that only one thing could be causing that, he prepped the guns and waited.

Nothing happened. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and called.

"_Lapland? What the devil is going on?" _Finland barked.

"_Nothing, sir," _the state replied. "_Is everything okay?"_

Finland looked out towards where he heard the explosions. No sign of damage. He sighed.

"_Yes, everything's okay. Thought I heard something," _he said.

He went back to his normal lookout position. _Great, now I'm hearing things, _he thought.

* * *

_Taser: check._

_Glock: check._

_Bulletproof vest: check._

_Anti-Nazi spray: check._

_America was ready to do battle and rescue his sister. Although she annoyed him more often than the states did, she was his sister, and he couldn't let her remain in the clutches of that, that socialist now, could he?_

_He approached Nazi Germany's castle. The eastern half was covered in scaffolding, and crews were rebuilding the wall. Looks like they got to him already, America thought. He noticed a service entrance off to the side. There's always an Achilles heel. He snuck in._

_As the door closed, he was completely cut off from the outside, as well as the light. Using his arms, he felt his way down a small, dank corridor that spilled out into the master control room. A dozen zombie stormtroopers slowly turned towards him. America gulped, and a stormtrooper let out an unholy noise that sounded like the Tyrannosaurus Rex from Jurassic Park. They instantly stood up and started sauntering towards him._

_"Okay, guys, I'm giving you a warning to back off," he said shakily, pointing his taser at random zombies. The zombies, not terribly inclined to obey his direction, still continued to advance. Shaking, America said in his best authoritarian voice, "All right, you give me no choice." He fired his taser, striking several zombies. They blinked, moaned, and started walking again. Withdrawing his Glock, he began to fire. "Yah! Yah! Just like Walking Dead!" he yelled, rolling off of tables and performing sequences usually reserved for stunt doubles. Puffing, he looked around the room, having made his mark. He ran down a hallway, having no idea where he was going. And then…_

"Come on, up and at 'em," Confederate America said, shaking his brother violently. America wailed, "Leave me alone, or so help me I'll-" he failed to finish his sentence, for at that moment a tuba blared two inches from America's right ear. He shot up like a Patriot missile, and Germany ran away screaming, "I thought you said you needed my services!" Roaring like a lion, America shoved off his brother and blundered off after Germany. When he reached the front room, he was tackled by several other countries. "I don't suggest that, mate, it could get a bit rough if you go about like a rugby player on PCP," Scotland grunted as he and Kaiser Germany held America down.

"Oh good, you're here," Poland said. "We needed you."

"Well, you didn't need to wake me up like that," America grumbled.

"The thing is, the demon didn't wake you up, so we resorted to more desperate measures," Poland said testily.

America paled. "A d-d-demon?" he stuttered. "At least you didn't make me do something horribly embarrassing." At this, several countries shifted awkwardly in their seats. "Best not mention that," Denmark whispered to Poland, who nodded curtly. America squinted, suspicious. "What did you do?" he asked warily. "Uh, you'll find out later," Poland said hurriedly. "But we have important business to take care of. We captured a prisoner." That caught America's attention. "Where's the sonuvabitch?" he growled. Poland smirked. "Right over there, and there's actually two of them," he said, gesturing to a smaller room.

In said room, America found two very angry people. They were bouncing about the room while still tied up in their chairs, yelling and screaming. It reminded America of a horror movie.

"Cut me loose, or God help me I'll cut off your head and mount your skull as a trophy!" Bavaria screamed, while Austria seemed to be reenacting a scene from The Exorcist.

America rolled his eyes, sighed, and with an apathetic expression tasered them. They went still. "Poland, we might need an exorcism, stat," America called. Poland sauntered in, armed with the proper equipment; although, in this case he seemed more ready to do battle than a religious rite.

The procedure was more difficult than Poland expected; whatever was living inside the two prisoners really didn't want to come out. He had expected difficulties, but nothing like this. America, for his part, was really helpful, such as holding the subject down and acting as Poland's Igor.

"Rosary," Poland asked, with the same inflection and tone with which a surgeon might say "scalpel".

"Crucifix."

"Prayer book."

After some violent episodes that almost made America wet himself, the two Germanics went limp. Poland breathed heavily. "Oog, I feel exhausted," he said as America carried the others on his shoulders. As he went off, Poland went to address the others.

"We don't know- I don't know, that is- what will become of them, but we should post a couple of physically advantaged people on guard, just to be safe. Austria isn't much of a threat, but Bavaria is liable to throw a good punch- trust me, I know."

Scotland, albeit reluctantly, raised his arm, as did Russia. "We'll do it," they droned. "We don't have anything else to do."

"Good, good," Poland chirped. "Now, for the umpteenth time, we need a cohesive plan. We have dead-on evidence that both Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia are gearing for war and are attacking other nations. Sweden, you'll be assisting Hungary in upgrading our computer systems. We need that badly. Germanies, you'll be with me. Balkans, could you gather intelligence from your neighborhood? One of the enemies may be trying to pull off something down there. Czechoslovakia, Norway, and Denmark, you're on refreshment duty. Your job is keep the beer and food in ready supply. Sisters, you're now on active military duty. Report for arming and briefing on your mission. Anyone I did not list, you are also to report at the wall in exactly one hour. Dismissed."

Sweden and Hungary went to the electronics room, which Hungary had also made his own. Sweden looked around disapprovingly. "Whose equipment is this?" he asked. "My own," Hungary replied. The technology was outdated and clunky- not Sweden's style. All right, let's get started. I brought my own stuff." He lugged out the large briefcase that contained his computer and all related items. Immediately, he started to condense the space in which everything took up. The one thing he didn't have, that was needed, were new servers.

"Damn," he cursed. "I have some, but it would be nigh-impossible to get here." He thought, then snapped in realization. "Hungary, you and Finland are buddies, _ja_?" Hungary shrugged, then said, "Yeah, but we don't hang out as much as I would like." Sweden back to thinking. Hungary had his turn to come up with an idea. "I'll be right back," he said as Sweden was reconnecting the computers with higher-grade cables.

Hungary went into the garden and called someone he tried hard to not talk to, but the present circumstances forced his hand. He made the call with an intense level of anxiety.

"Hello?" came Estonia's very tired voice.

"Hey, it's Hungary."

"Hey."

"I was wondering if you guys are officially neutral?"

"Seems like it, but we might be playing Sweden, if you get what I mean."

Hungary frowned, then realized what she was getting at. "Ah. So, I was wondering if we might be able to ship several Finnish computer servers to Warsaw."

For a moment, silence. Than came a sigh. "I'll see what I can do," she said, sounding a little pained. She put down the phone and Hungary could hear her yelling in Finnish. A grunting reply came back up, and she answered, "Yeah, he's got a couple leaving Turku this evening. We have to make all shipments at night, as you might understand." He heard another yell from the distance. "He says that they should be in Gdansk in a couple of days. I wouldn't trust your railways, so send someone to receive them and transport them to Warsaw." Another pause. "Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Bye."

_click._

Hungary felt a little affronted, but he accepted the fact that Estonia had never really cared for him and went back to the house.

"Talked to Estonia. Finland's shipping some new servers. They'll be here in a couple of days," he told Sweden, who was underneath the desk, doing repairs. The latter nation slid out from underneath and said, "Great. That'll help a lot. Thanks, Hungary."

* * *

The Germanies, the Nordic sisters, Greenland, Faroes, and Lithuania reported as requested to the field outside of Poland's house. Soon, Poland arrived carrying several buckets of shiny metal. Sister Sweden walked over, reached in, and pulled out a breastplate.

She frowned. "You can't be serious," she said. "This is what we're wearing? Against an army of zombies?" The others shared their discontent.

"Now, now, there's no need to be angry," he said confidently. "These are newly forged. It's made of a special alloy I created. It's lightweight, yet extremely durable. You'll be plenty safe in these."

"But it's so… unsporting," Sister Sweden said. "We'll sound like walking scrap metal."

"Have you even tried it on?" Poland replied, raising an eyebrow.

Grumbling, the defense force dressed down in the armor. It became immediately apparent that they were not going _all _the way back to the Dark Ages, but going back a little bit… in style.

The armor let off a gleam that few ever saw; it was the same type of glow some have seen off of golden ingots. It also made little noise, and it was tremendously light. Poland had obviously studied up, and it paid off. The helmets were in a variety of styles, from Roman to Nordic to Slavic. For Sister Sweden, he had crafted an ornate Valkyrie helm, for she was to be his second-in-command. For himself, he had a good old-fashioned Slavic helmet.

When they were finished striking poses and gawking over their new possessions, Poland smiled and took them to the armory. "You are to choose three weapons: combatants and melee in any combination. A combatant weapon would be something like a firearm or crossbow, while a melee is something manual, like a sword, knife, pole, etc. You may use weapons you already own if that is your preference, but you'll have to adjust. So, soldiers, choose your weapons." And they did: Norway outfitted herself with a crossbow, Lithuania a dart gun, Sweden a sword to rival Kaiser Germany's. But Faroes and Greenland clearly came off as the clear winners: In addition to their own whaling knife and harpoon (respectively), they each outfitted themselves with a pistol and AK-47. They each looked like something out of a Viking-age/Cold-War first-person shooter. Once outfitted, Poland took them to the garrison wall. Opening a hatch, they climbed a narrow staircase that led to a passageway that circumnavigated the entire wall. Every several feet or so, they would come across a large German artillery gun. "I got 'em from Weimar after the First World War, and they've been in storage ever since. Nazi Germany and Soviet Union never noticed them," Poland explained with a hint of pride. He demonstrated how to operate each type of gun, including a firing demonstration. "The larger guns are in transport mode underground. When assembled, they'll occupy the parade field here," he continued, gesturing to the large field. Sister Norway looked at the field incredulously. "Seriously?" she asked, a little snappy for Norway. "These are already huge." With the air of a kid waiting to show you the catapult he built, Poland chuckled, "Oh, no. You haven't seen the real firepower. Now, during battle, I want Greenland, Faroes, and Lithuania operating the guns in the wall. You'll have more comrades to work with, but that's out of this group. Since I just showed you how that works, you three are dismissed." The three left.

"As for the rest of you, I want you on the ground, and I need your inner Viking exposed to those fascist bastards," he said with a little relish. "Done," Sister Denmark said, brandishing a sword. "Do you want us to cut off the head or balls during battle? A little dismembering?" Sister Norway remarked, as she and Sister Sweden assumed their I'm-gonna-rip-your-limbs-off stance. Poland gulped a little, instinctively went into defensive mode, and said, "Whatever suits you. You're dismissed now. We'll have general training tomorrow."

They arrived just in time for Slovenia and Croatia to leave. "We'll be back in a week," Croatia said. "We'll try hard to not start any more wars." Poland nodded, said goodbye, then went to check and see if Norway, Denmark, and Czechoslovakia had done their job yet. He was please to notice that they had; large rations of beer filled every available storage space. _Good, good, _he thought. _Everything is going according to plan. _Then Iceland came charging into the front room, startling several out a snooze. "What is it?" his sister grumbled, as she had been floating in the hot water.

"It's our prisoner," he said, breathlessly. "He's talking."

* * *

Poland knew how interrogations were conducted; he had been on the receiving end of dozens. He dismissed America, who went rather reluctantly and was convinced Poland wasn't going to do as good a job. It was only when the latter threatened the former with no kielbasa for a week that he left. Poland joined Russia. "Questioning, Slavic-style," Russia said, and Poland smiled a little. "Let's do this," he smirked.

"First off," Russia said, propping up Austria, "what were you doing over here? What was your mission?"

Austria looked at him blankly, then started to struggle against Russia's bonds. "I don't know what I'm doing here!" he yelled. "One minute I'm playing a particularly difficult Mozart, and then I'm dragged off into a dark room! Then…"

"Yes?" Poland asked.

"I don't remember." Then his eyes grew with shock. "Wait I do remember! It was Na- Naz-" He started to spasm violently, and Poland yelled, "Uh, Iceland, we might need you in here! NOW!" Iceland came running in just as Austria went limp and something small dropped on the floor. Immediately, he started checking Austria's vitals. To everyone's confusion, Iceland proclaimed, "Well, he seems fine; he's just unconscious," sounding a little baffled himself. At that, moment something fell on the floor near Bavaria. Looking warily at each other, Russia turned on the light, and all three pairs of eyes dropped to the floor, only to see two writhing worm-like creatures in small pools of blood.

Iceland nearly vomited. Poland had to lean on Russia so he wouldn't faint. Russia just looked at the bugs, and the prisoners, and back. Withdrawing a pistol, he fired two shots at each insect. As a precaution, Poland yelled, "DON'T WORRY, WE'RE NOT PERFORMING SUMMARY EXECUTIONS!"

"What in the hell were those?" Russia asked, looking at what used to be the bugs.

"I feel like I saw something like those in a movie once. They were used for mind control," Iceland said. "Mind control?" Poland repeated, raising an eyebrow. They were all thinking the same thing.

When Bavaria and Austria came to, they were led out into the front room, and everyone snapped to attention. "Now, we're going to ask you simple questions. Do you think you can handle that?" Poland asked. Both countries nodded.

"What were you doing here?"

"Nazi Germany sent us on a suicide mission to try and destroy your ammunition and steal information," Bavaria replied matter-of-factly.

"Why were you doing it?"

"He had put these… _larvae_ in our brains that let him control us," Austria said. "He does it with all of his prisoners that he wants to use."

"Are you feeling normal now?"

They both shrugged.

"What else can you tell us?"

"He has imprisoned 4 people, and 2 of them have been bugged."

"Who?"

"The Low Countries and Sister America."

The Americans winced a little, and Denmark went pale. "Wait, so… so Netherlands has a bug in his brain?" he said with an undercurrent of grief.

Bavaria shook his head. "Belgium and Luxembourg have been bugged. He's using (read: torturing) Netherlands and Sister America to try and get information on the whereabouts of you guys."

Poland nodded, then asked, "Are you willing to defect to our side?" Austria answered 'yes' without hesitation.

It was at this moment that the group got their first good look at Germany's nephew. Bavaria looked like Sweden, but without glasses and with very stereotypically German clothes. He wore a crown similar to Sealand, and had a budding handlebar mustache. His shirt was like Poland's, but sky-blue instead of red, and was partially visible through his lederhosen. He looked like something out of an Oktoberfest poster. "I don't know," he said. "I've been pretty well-off. Nazi Germany practically wants to move to Nuremberg. He calls Munich one of the German people's greatest cities. Lots of parades, and I'm respected." He threw a poisonous glare at his uncle, who looked away. "But… I can't stand what he does. He keeps rounding up 'undesirables', like Jews, Turks, and anyone who doesn't like him. I don't like them too, but I don't want them dead. They give Munich a unique flavor, I must say." He sat down, frustrated.

"Need some convincing?" Kaiser Germany asked, smiling. Bavaria looked for the source of the question, and when he found it, his eyes grew big. "Opa?" he asked incredulously. "I thought you died!" Thrilled, Bavaria agreed to join the fight. Than his face dropped. "Oh God! Nazi Germany's going to bomb Munich when he finds out!" Poland looked at the Germans, then called out, "SEALAND!"

The micronation came sauntering into the room. "Yes?" he asked. Poland dropped to a knee and asked, "Do you think you could create a defense system for Bavaria's cities?" Sealand shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he said plaintively, than wandered off again.

"We'll cover you," Poland said, and Bavaria seemed relieved. "Alright, cool. Well, I think it's not too much to say that we could go on a rescue mission. We could retrieve the prisoners in time for Christmas!" Everyone cheered.

"So, what are we waiting for?" asked an excited Denmark. "Let's go rescue some people!"

"Yeah!" shouted America in fervent agreement.

Next thing Poland knew, everyone hurried out the door and filed into America's plane.

Some lagged behind; Sweden and Åland, for instance, weren't going to leave, then did anyway because there was nothing else to do.

Poland stayed. He didn't want to leave his home, his bastion of security. As he watched the plane fly off for Germany, he prayed that they had something resembling a plan.

As he walked towards the kitchen, he felt a hand clasp on his shoulder. Whipping around, he nearly knocked over Sister Sweden, who jumped back to avoid being caught in Poland's swing. "Woah, there!" she yelled, and he went beet-red with embarrassment. "Oh, sorry," he said. "Why aren't you with the others?" She shrugged. "I just want to be here." She took his right hand into hers, which sent red flags all through his mind. "And I want to be with you," she purred, reaching her other arm around him. He remained rigid as a pole, both because of awkwardness and extreme discomfort. She noticed his facial expression, which was that of a very uncomfortable cat. Then, after a while, he hugged back, much to her surprise.

That evening, they danced. It was the first prolonged physical contact with a human being that Poland had ever encountered, and it was delightful.

_Maybe, just maybe, _he thought to himself as he lay in bed. Then his subconscious appeared.

_Oh, Poland… why do you try? You know she's faithless. She runs amok among Europe's males, leaving a trail of crying, motherless children wherever she goes! She simply wants the pleasure, not the pain and suffering that goes into motherhood! You deserve better than that!_

Poland countered with his own thoughts. _I deserve better, huh? Well, who would that be? I've been treated like crap from virtually every country on the continent, and shunned by every female I've tried to approach. As for why I try, that's because I feel that this might be it. Also, last I checked you have a habit of calling every female who doesn't go to Mass every day and twice on Sundays a whore. Now, she may be a tad promiscuous and she may be a Lutheran (Bóg jej pomóc!), but I don't see her doing a striptease for Satan himself. Also, I was told at Mass last Sunday that it doesn't matter who I love. Well, it does, but not as much as it used to. So, I'm going out on an unprecedented limb and seeing where this takes me. I'm living in the 21st century, not the 17th. Also, she has only one child, and she takes quite good care of him from what I've heard. So, suck it._

And with a burst of fresh confidence, the downtrodden Central European resolved to make this tale have a happy ending. And if history has told us anything, it's that when Poles get ideas, everyone better watch out.

* * *

_Where to start?_

_First off: sorry for taking so friggin' long. I've been occupied with school and two music projects (an opera and a symphony), so it's obviously been a little hard._

_Now, about the story._

_I felt like using the Teutonic Knights at some point in my story. They played such an important role in Central European history I couldn't leave them out! Anyway, this should be fun._

_So, now you've met Bavaria. You'll get to know him really over these next couple of chapters, but probably not the next one. I'm thinking of going to Southern Europe for that one._

_Lots of Polish development._

_And yes, I stole the mind-control-bugs from Wrath of Khan xD Sue me._


	18. Croatia's Big Adventure

As the two pals approached Ljubljana, it became increasingly clear that their neighbors might not want anything to do with the war going on in the north. Bosnia and Herzegovina, upon noticing Croatia, shuttered their house, and Serbia was seen standing on his front porch, holding an assault rifle and glaring at the two homecomers. "See you later, then," Slovenia muttered, eyeing the hostile greetings and wisely heading north, up into the mountains, towards his own home.

Croatia had always had a harder time with the neighbors. They were still getting over the massive feud that happened not that long ago, when everyone was the enemy and doing awful things. Serbia, Croatia held, was the main perpetrator; Bosnia, Montenegro, and Herzegovina didn't help matters. He felt that to get away from it all, he would spend his week in Dubrovnik rather than Zagreb. Plus, he was closer to Albania that way; they rarely bothered each other. Croatia resolved to try to talk to the more peaceful residents in the neighborhood.

The next day, he left his villa on the Adriatic coast and wandered down to Greece. He skirted past Podgorica, where Serbia was trying to seduce Montenegro again, and Tirana, which seemed like normal; Albania was corralling loose donkeys. Than, coming up over a ridge, he could hear Athens before he saw it. A dull roar was emanating from it, like some sort of jet engine. As he made his way down towards the coast, he saw it, a massive city sprawled out like a tzatziki spill, splattered from the Aegean Sea to the countryside of Attica.

Athens had been embroiled in riots for well over two years or so, and Croatia was following the issue with a sort of sickly humorous mentality. Greece, being dirt poor and living on a large, rocky peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean, was, in a way, the guy living in your cellar who would occasionally come out to tell everyone to 'keep it down up there'.

Anyway, on this particular day, Croatia made his way to the city. However, it was eerily calmer than usual; then again, that wasn't saying much. As he meandered down the streets, he came across a familiar figure manning a gyro stand. It was indeed Greece, but he was in disguise; the _I Galanólefki_ was gone, switched out for an Olympiacos jersey, and he was donning a chef's hat; the smell of lamb and pita lulled Croatia into a daydream, from which he had to snap out of.

"Hello, Greece," Croatia said with a humorless smile. The figure looked up, then jumped. "Dear me, Croatia, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" he yelled into a whisper. "You've been gone, yes?"

Croatia nodded. "Just got back from Poland's."

Greece raised his eyebrows. "Oh? How did that go?"

"Not well. There's a new war about."

Greece froze, slowly looked up, and slowly said, "What?"

Croatia gave a small stern nod. "There is a war in the north. It's too difficult to explain here. Is there somewhere we can meet?"

An hour later, the two nations sat on the Acropolis, looking out over the bulk of Greece's population. "Not very many tourists come this time of year, and locals mostly just like to look at it," Greece said, "so this is probably the best spot. Now, what's going on? Tell me everything." And so Croatia did. When he was finished, Greece sat there in silence, then said, "Okay, tell you what. I'll tell you everything I know for a fact."

"There is no way I can finance another war. I have to give my citizens pita, you know, and it's a new regime and all. But," he added, noting Croatia's crestfallen expression, "I would probably be able to talk to the neighbors. No offense, but I have better relations with some of them than you."

"No offense taken," Croatia replied, "but I think it would be prudent if I talked with some of them, too. Like, perhaps, Turkey?" At the mention of the name, Greece tensed up and became agitated. "Yes, I think it would be wise of you to talk to him, rather than me," he said. Croatia narrowed his eyes. "Why? Are you two fighting again?" Greece remained quiet, but Croatia continued asking questions. "What's the big dispute over this time? Land disputes? Genocide? General disagreement?" Greece rounded on Croatia and said, "You know, it would be for the better if you stopped asking questions on this matter," slightly annoyed. Croatia pressed no further.

He bid goodbye to Greece, promising to keep in touch about Southeastern affairs, and headed east to Istanbul. He took a boat, thinking that it would be faster. And it was.

As the boat came to Turkey's historic capital (and, therefore, the one he tried hardest to obliterate from history books), Croatia could almost smell the Grand Bazaar from the sea. He knew exactly where to find him- either peddling spices in the Bazaar or in his favorite coffee shop, playing backgammon with the locals.

First up: the Bazaar. It was everything that ignorant foreigners assumed it to be- an exotic wonderland of incense, opium, coffee, and precious metals. As he meandered through the covered streets, he stopped to muse over cheap handmade goods that would surely make decent gifts. He came across blind beggars asking for alms, snake charmers, and even a person in the costume of an Ottoman caliph. Unfortunately, he was on a diplomatic mission, not a shopping trip to pacify his neighbors from shelling his house again. He searched for Turkey in the spice market high and low. Not seeing him there, he moved on to just outside of the Bazaar, to a literally hole-in-the-wall coffee place. In the window, he saw an individual with a Gençlerbirliği kit, sipping coffee with a backgammon board. He was sitting alone.

Croatia went inside, and sat down. "You know, it's not difficult to spot you. How many Istanbulites wear Gençlerbirliği shirts?" Turkey eyed Croatia's shirt. "I see you made no attempt to blend in," he noted with dry humor. Croatia leaned in and said, "We need to talk." Turkey gave a curt nod, fetched two coffees, and said, "Please, continue."

"I've been away to the North," Croatia began. "In Poland. Things are not good. There is another war. Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia have risen again and are harassing other countries. I've come to, well, gauge the temperature, if you get my meaning." Turkey took a long draught of coffee, thought for a moment, and said, "No."

"Beg pardon?"

"No. I won't participate. I have enough issues already. ISIS, the economy, that _salak_ Greece. Also, King Europe has put me on the back bumper for decades. Do I really seem ready to come out and send my citizens to die for others that don't respect me? No. I won't do it; I can't do it. Sorry."

Croatia must've looked especially crestfallen, because Turkey softened and said, "Here, as a parting gift. It is true, Kaiser Germany has returned?" Croatia nodded. "Than he will enjoy this," Turkey said, giving Croatia an aromatic sack. "It's full of Turkish coffee. He loves it." Bidding goodbye and feeling remarkably disappointed, Croatia set off north for the next non-Yugoslav republic he could think of.

He and Bulgaria didn't get along that well, mostly because she pandered to Serbia a little too much for Croatia's taste; also, because she was really good at football and had beaten him once in Euro. That didn't help matters, but he felt that he needed to visit her in order to pull off something of a success.

He remarked at how much better Sofia looked since communism's demise. He had made fun of Bulgaria and Albania during the tough 1990s for being so run-down, but it was dramatically better now. He approached her house and knocked.

She answered the door, a pretty, brown-haired Bulgar who looked like a Greek Slav. She was something of a wild-card in Europe; lots of people found her pretty, but not someone to spend a committed relationship with. She liked personal space, evidenced by how everyone in the region put forth effort to avoid her. This, understandably, made her irritable; nobody wanting to be your friend does that to a person. So every once in awhile, some company was a welcome event in her house. So, naturally, when she open the door, she threw her arms around Croatia, kissed him on both cheeks, and beckoned him inside, saying, "Ox, Croatia! How nice of you to visit! Come, come!" He bore the expression of a surprised owl.

She sat him down, poured him a drink, and said, "Now, what can I do for you?"

He thought for a moment about how to word his answer, then asked, "Where's your brother?" She stopped and frowned. "Why?" she responded. He looked around, leaned over, and whispered the condensed version of what he had told Turkey and Greece. When he was done, she looked at him in alarm. "Croatia, I can't. You know how he would respond. Holding the family honor, and all that." She leaned in closer and whispered, "Plus, I have a date with Greece, and it wouldn't go over well to have a battle going on in the front lawn, now, would it?"

"No, no it wouldn't," Croatia murmured. Then at that moment, the back door closed. "Hurry!" she hissed. "He's coming!" He scrambled out the door just as Brother Bulgaria entered the room. Croatia ducked under the window, so as not to be seen.

What happened next seemed a blur to him. He heard shouting, violent threats, crying, and then a vicious slapping sound, like flesh being struck. Next thing he knew, Bulgaria was running out of the house, tears streaming down her cheeks with a glowing red spot on her left cheek. She saw an alarmed Croatia hiding behind a bush. She ran over, ducked down so her brother couldn't see, and kneeled next to him. "Croatia, help me," she pleaded, grabbing the hem of his shirt. "He's gone mad. I think the spectre of his old master still haunts him. You've got to help me. I have to leave!" Croatia panicked a little. "Okay," he said, trying to get a grip on the situation. "Okay, let's get you out." He took her, and ran towards Athens.

Greece was back to his normal wear, and he looked up from his desk in alarm at the two nations. "Really, Croatia, can't you see that you have to set up an appoint-" he said, cutting himself short at the sight of Bulgaria. "Αγαπητέ μου, what happened?" he cried, seeing her in a right state. "Her brother has gone nuts," Croatia said, setting Bulgaria down. "He attacked her, I don't know why."

Greece looked at him, and with a grave tone said, "He's still obsessed with communism and Stalinism. She's made significant progress and things have improved, but every once in a while…" he shook his head, helped her up, and said, "Leave now. Sign me to your damn treaty. I have no choice." His voice was laden with bitterness and contempt. Croatia felt for him, being pressured into a war that he had neither the finances or nationalism to fight.

He resigned himself to his fate, and went home the long way. He stopped and talked to Albania, who said that he, too, was incapable of fighting a war, but he had Greece along with him, so he gave Croatia his confidence that the communist menace would not be appearing in Tirana. Croatia gave up on his Yugoslav neighbors. They were a lost cause, and everyone in the region knew it.

Settling into his bed, he hunkered down for a good long nap. Lord knew he needed one.

* * *

That night, Turkey had an unsettling vision. Especially considering his current situation.

As he slept, comfortable in Ankara, he dreamed about flying, and he descended towards Istanbul. As he landed, an invisible hand jerked him violently through the streets, until he came to a massive palace complex, like a city within the larger city.

He had arrived at Topkapi Palace.

It being night, no tourists were there; just a couple of night watchmen. The tugging stopped, and it left Turkey at the top of a staircase. And then, him heard something he hadn't heard in what seemed like a very long age.

"Ah. It is the prodigal son, he has returned to his true home!"

Listening quietly, he heard the voice, a voice that he remembered from his childhood.

"The House of Osman welcomes you home, Turkey," the voice said faintly. Turkey wheeled around, searching vainly for the source. "But the line is dead!" he hissed. "The line of Osman is finished, and with it the last vestiges of the Empire!"

The voice chuckled. "Ah, you think so? Do you not know what goes on within your legislature's walls?" A swirl of cloud, and Turkey saw what was happening in the government: the majority party was going around calling themselves Osmanlı torunu: descendants of the Ottomans, and watched the Opposition calling the prime minister a sultan. Turkey reeled; what was happening to his beautiful, secularized, Western nation? The party was taking it backwards, towards the days of that corrupt, decrepit, deceiving-

"No, no," Turkey said quietly and mournfully. "It can't be. We've moved on!"

"Tsk, tsk," the voice replied reproachfully. "I will have to see you, then."

A hand gently pushed him down towards a large ballroom. "The Sultanate of the Ottoman Empire will see you now," a eunuch proclaimed outside the door. Oh my God, Turkey thought. We've done it. We're back to the Dark Ages.

A night watchman heard the ghostly voice, and Turkey could sense someone climbing up the stairwell. He ducked into the ballroom, the eunuch vanishing into thin air. He saw the guard looking around, and Turkey knew it was only a matter of time before he was spotted. But no, the guard shook his head and headed back downstairs. Breathing hard and fast, he turned around, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

There he was, Turkey's father. Ottoman flickered in appearance, like a faulty holograph. He first assumed the form of a hale and hearty teenager warlord, still grinning with enthusiasm as he was building one of the greatest empires of the 2nd millenium. "Ah, my son," he said with outstretched arms, his caftan flowing behind him and donning an early war helmet. Turkey recoiled slightly. "Are you my father? Or a caretaker?" The form flickered to a middle-aged sultan, slightly more rotund and wearing a large white turban. The look went from slightly arrogant to more sage, but definitely hurt by the comment. "I am your father," he said. "You just… outgrew me. Now, listen, for what I am about to say is extremely important. Stay neutral in the conflict. Greece has joined the Allies, and that'll give Britain her airfields. Stay neutral, close off the Dardanelles and Bosporus to all ships. No ship shall pass the Golden Horn. You'll find yourself thankful." And with that, he collapsed, and flickered into a sickly old man who looked like he should have died several years before. "Allah, bless this boy," he said, and breathed his last. His ghost disappeared, and Turkey was left alone in the ballroom.

* * *

The next day, snow had fallen on Warsaw. It was a pleasant reminder to Poland that Christmas was right around the corner, and it was a pleasant reminder to Sister Sweden that snow still fell this far south. They had spent a good deal of time together, and they were closer than ever before. They were woken from sleep by a loud buzzing from Poland's phone. It was Turkey, and his voice didn't sound quite normal.

"Poland, I need to talk to you," he stammered.

Poland sat up in bed. "Go on."

Turkey took a couple of very deep breaths. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. So, I just received a vision from my dead father that said I should remain neutral in your war."

"Okay. So, why are you telling me this? Croatia already told me."

"Well, I've come to the decision that I'm shutting down the Dardanelles and Bosporus."

Poland shot straight up. "WHAT?"

"Well, that's my choice," Turkey said, taken a little aback.

"No, that's great! Turkey, you're a godsend!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Oh. Okay. Sorry for waking you."

Click.

Poland was panting, and Sister Sweden stirred in the next room. She appeared in his doorway wearing a bathrobe. Bleary-eyed and hair anything but tidy, she had clearly just woken up. Poland, on the other hand, was very much awake. He jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs, and pulled out a map of Europe. Very confused but vaguely interested, she sauntered downstairs after him to find him madly scribbling on the map.

He was giggling insanely, and was uncontrollably happy. In fact, she was certain he had never been this happy before in his life. He stood back and said, "See? We've won. We've won the bloody war."

"How?" she asked.

He pointed to Turkey. "Turkey just called me and said that because he's neutral, he's shutting down the Straits between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean," he said, indicating the location. "I'm following," Sister Sweden responded.

"Now, where are the only locations that Russia has access to water from?" he asked her.

She looked at the map. Russia had a large frontier, but very limited water access. She pointed to Archangel, St. Petersburg, and the Black Sea. "Here, here, and here."

"Correct," he told her. "Now, which are not controlled by neutral nations who are not afraid to pound any ship that comes into those waters?"

She looked at the map again. Turkey blockaded the south way, and Finland and Estonia acted like guards to the Baltic, rendering St. Petersburg useless. "Only that one," she said, pointing to Murmansk and Archangel, Russia's ports in the Arctic. Poland smiled. "Correct. Now, which one is available once we institute a military base in northern Norway?"

"None," she said, and started to smile.

"Right," Poland said. "With no ports, and with us controlling the frontier, we wall Russia in. They won't have any connection with the outside world. I give him two weeks before he capitulates."

* * *

Meanwhile, Croatia stirred from his nap. He nearly had a heart attack upon seeing the time; he had slept through the afternoon, dinner, and the evening's festivities. He went outside into the streets of Dubrovnik.

There were still a lot of people out and about, celebrating the holiday season about town. Suddenly, there was a bright flash in the sky, and the activity seemed to die as people looked up. Croatia got a sinking feeling in his gut. Then…

kaBOOM.

He ran home, part of the mob that was screaming as mortar shells fell upon the city walls. He barricaded the door, and his phone buzzed alive. It was Serbia.

"Don't leave your house. Arm yourself. Yugoslavia has returned." Then he hung up.

Croatia looked his phone with fear, then did as he was told.

* * *

_I decided to go to Southeastern Europe this chapter._

_Croatia and Slovenia are Slavic, like the rest of Yugoslavia and Eastern Europe (except for Hungary and Greece), but they are the only Catholic Slavic nations (along with Poland). So, therefore, they're more likely to hitch with Western and Central European modes of thinking and politics and less willing to subscribe to Russia's "pan-Slavism" (something you will definitely see come into play later on). Slovenia is like a mashup of Italian and Austrian cultures, and Croatia also has a large Italian influence, best seen in the city of Dubrovnik.  
_

_The "recent conflict" would be the Yugoslav Civil War. Croatia and Serbia were the two main camps, and they both did absolutely awful things. The feelings between the current Balkan states is, understandably, tense. Croatia and Slovenia tend to band together, with Serbia and Bosnia/Herzogovina on the "other side". Montenegro and the new republic of Kosovo tend to spend equal time with both sides._

_The relationships between the other nations in that region are also at play here._

_Greece, at least in the Balkans, is easily the "power player". He gets along very well with Bulgaria and okay with Albania; he has tenuous relationships with the others but gets along okay. He and Turkey have been at each other since the Trojan War; they absolutely despise each other._

_Speaking of Turkey, he's probably the most conflicted character around. He has been trying to be accepted as European for decades, and has had his EU app put on hold for 15 years; his relationship with King Europe is sort of like Estonia's relationship with the Nordics. He lives by the principles of democracy, republicanism, and being decidedly secular. He has the messiest past this side of Germany and Russia. He and his dad, Ottoman Empire, did not get along. Ottoman used to be a powerful warlord, then quickly devolved into a decrepit mess that lived for several years longer than he should have. However, the current political majority in Turkey has very pro-Ottoman leanings, calls themselves "descendants of Osman", and have been labeled as neo-Ottoman. This is understandably distressing to the status quo secularists._

_Bulgaria is also a bit of a mess. They fit well into the Balkan picture well, but they also are prone to falling victim to Russia's siren-song. They are indeed South Slavs, but are closer to Russia than any others in the region; they are notorious for Stalinist policies and mobs. The modernizing, more liberal, Greece-loving Bulgaria is counteracted by the more Stalinist, Russophilic Brother Bulgaria._

_Russia's geography does, indeed, cause problems for its naval options. The only ports on the European side are Petrograd (St. Petersburg), the Crimea in the Black Sea, and the Arctic ports of Archangel and Murmansk. This was an issue in World War Two. Because of who was allied with whom, the Allies had to ship supplies to Russia via the Arctic ports; these stories have become mainstays of WWII legend._

_And it was only a matter of time before Yugoslavia returned from the dead..._


	19. Sell Your Son to the Devil

A thick layer of clouds hovered over Munich. It was not going to be a sunny day, nor even particularly bright. The forecast was indeed to be cloudy, maybe even drizzly. It certainly befitted the occasion happening in the great city that day.

In the woods outside of town, two figures, shrouded in cloaks, sneaked through the trees, trying to go undetected. One was much smaller than the other; this character shifted his black hair from his eyes, then continued gently prodding the ground with a hiking pole. The other figure was taller, blonde, and was scouring the region with a pair of binoculars.

"Ah. Here we are," Sealand said, tapping the ground with the hiking pole. It made a gentle tinging sound, like something metal. He brushed away the detritus to reveal a manhole cover. Gently removing it, he sent a small black sphere down the hole. He pulled out a small tablet. Using an app, he was able to see what was in the hole via sphere.

"Ingenious," Scania muttered.

The sphere revealed nothing out of the ordinary, partially because it was pitch black inside. This was no problem for Sealand; he tapped away, and the sphere started flashing strobe lights. Immediately, they heard shouts and yells in the dozens. Smiling, Sealand sealed up the manhole cover and put the detritus back on top.

And so this was repeated several more times, until they had placed these spheres in every hidden bunker they could find. Once the task was completed, they ran back to a cluster of tents in the thick of the forest.

"Mission completed, Commander Sweden," Sealand said, saluting. Scania, rolling his eyes, saluted his uncle half-heartedly. "Good," Sweden said, eyeing his nephew with a mildly pointed glare. "Are the charges set?" Sealand pointed to several sacks with unknown contents resting in front of a tent. Sweden nodded. "Good, good. Now, where are the Germans?"

"Right here," said an out-of-breath Germany. He was followed up by his dad and nephew. "He suspects nothing," Bavaria said. "Unless he's faking it really, really good. But Uncle hasn't exactly been known to keep emotions bottled up."

"His defenses are a joke," Kaiser Germany reported. "We can take the castle with no problem; without the magic of Teutonic vestments, he can't generate zombies anymore."

"Good," Sweden declared. "Gather the troops. We attack in four hours."

Three hours later, everyone was gathered. Sweden held up his hand. Everyone went silent.

"We attack in T-minus one hour," he said. "So I'm going to be giving your battle assignments."

"Americans, your goal is to rescue the prisoners from the dungeons. Czechoslovakia, I need you to man the north and south entrances, and make sure that we're not being either watched or ambushed. Hungary, you'll be with me. You're Lieutenant Commander. Lithuania and Denmark, your job is to destroy- and I mean _destroy_\- the electricity to the castle. Norway, you'll be teamed up with Iceland. Pirate their artillery and use it against them. Germans, ambush the ammo depots. Get us more ammo, obviously. Scania, Sealand? You're on Pyrotechnics." The latter two high-fived each other. Everyone got armoured up and was talking excitedly.

At 23:00, they attacked. Instantly, it became apparent that this was going to be their night. Norway and Iceland commandeered the artillery with no problem, and quickly started blowing up large chunks of castle. Thanks to this, Denmark and Lithuania were easily able to sever all power.

"Ambush teams, go!" Sweden called.

"Pyrotechnics, go!" Hungary yelled after him.

Sealand and Scania went back to the forest. Pulling out his tablet, Sealand was able to double-check that all spheres were still in deployed position and were not tampered with. After checking, a single tap caused the forest to erupt in a cascade of fire and earth. The explosions decimated all plant life within 100 feet of each bunker, and they could probably be heard in Vienna.

The Germans overtook the small guard force and secured the ammo depot in five minutes flat. The Americans found the dungeons, and called over Sealand and Scania to blow the wall open. After securing a mine about 50 feet away, Scania cried, "Fire in the hole!" A deafening explosion ripped the wall open, and they grabbed the four prisoners. "Go, go, go!" America screamed.

The attacked started to fight back at this point, and the night was now rift with shouts, yells, and machine-gunfire. "Regroup, regroup!" Sweden bellowed. The attackers regrouped, then attacked again. This time, they decimated the remaining defense. With whooping and cheers, they torched the Nazi flag flying over the castle with a flamethrower. It was replaced by the regular German one, with the German anthem being played over Bavaria's iPod.

A scouring of the premises yielded no results as to the fate of Nazi Germany himself. For all they knew, he could have been blown to kingdom come by a mine, but this was unlikely. Just then, his voice came over the sky like a godly PA system.

"You thought you could defeat me? Well, you may have this time, but I'll have you know that I'm at a new base of operations. You want to find it? Just ask the tricolored female." And with a rumble of thunder, he was gone.

* * *

Even though Nazi Germany had suffered defeat in the first major battle of the war, he had escaped and claimed to be at a new place. Also, this sort of success had reverberations elsewhere on the continent. Including in the three Southern European countries who had been mired in civil wars since the war began.

Portugal was the first to win his. He had successfully defeated his fascist doppelganger with a combination of keelhauling, recitation of geographical facts, and poisoning by green wine. Spain was next, but his took a little longer; it hadn't been that long ago since the fall of Franco.

So, therefore, it was only wise that these two were helping Italy win his. The North and South took the opportunity to go at it with each other. Italy was trying to stop the fight. Unfortunately, the two had already come to blows and pulled guns on each other; fortunately, neither one was competent enough at war to cause any real damage. It did scare the tar out of the neighbors, though.

Spain and Portugal showed up to Vatican City only to discover the latter nation in an advanced stage of dishevelment. "Those damn kids," he groaned. "'Fraid you've gotten here too late. They've gone their separate ways now. The North's now the Republic of Padania, based in Milan." He then collapsed.

"Woah, there, buddy," Portugal said, heaving Vatican up onto the couch. The patriarch smelled heavily of red wine. At that moment, Italy came strolling in, only to notice the inebriated state of his adoptive grandfather.

"What in the world?" the younger Italian exclaimed, rushing to his side. "I'm sorry, _puer,_" Vatican wept. "They've gone and split up while you were out." Italy went about five shades paler than before. "Well, let's reunite them!" he said. "We have to, or else the whole infrastructure will go to hell!"

"Hasn't it already?" Spain said.

"Touché," Italy replied, "but this could be catastrophic. It'll be like before my unification, and I _really _don't want to remember that."

"I would," called Vatican from the couch, rousing from his wine-soaked slumber. "Of course you would, but I forbid it under any circumstance," Italy said firmly, looking at Vatican with a fixed glare. Vatican gave him puppy eyes. "Not even Rome herself? Or even Romagna?"

"You know darn well that Romagna has made it clear," Italy growled. "She likes her socialism. Also, I would take a halved Italy over an Italy with the Patrimony of St. Peter back."

"Going back to the main issue," Spain said, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable tension. "Is Mezzo still faithful to you?" Italy looked at Vatican, who nodded weakly. "Okay, so here's what you're going to do. We're going to go up there and reason with Lombard." Vatican laughed drunkenly. "Reason? With Lombard? You'll have better luck convincing Germany to give Greece another loan." Portugal crossed his arms. "The least we can do is try. Spain and I have already fought our fascist opponents, which means that Italy's is still out there somewhere."

"Mussolini's dead," Italy snorted.

"Yeah, well, so were Franco and Salazar," Spain retorted. "Point is, they're coming back from the dead with help from _you-know-who_."

"Fine, fine, you made your point," Italy said. "I'll go to Milan. Alone. You know how he is. Take care of Vatican." He paused, then whistled. A scrawny teenager of severe Mediterranean complexion duly came. He wore a white tee with a rather ornate coat of arms. "Actually, I'll take Mezzo. He might be of use."

* * *

"Where are we going, Papa?" Mezzo called.

"We're going to try and reason with your brother."

The boy protested. "Dad, we just fought."

"Yes, and we're going to reunite. The entire continent's in war, if you haven't noticed, and the best thing to do is to stay together as a family. We don't want to be what we were, right?" Mezzo shuddered. "No, Papa."

"Good," Italy said. "Ah, here we are."

They had left the dust and scorching heat of the South and entered the cool, Alpine North. They came across a border patrol.

"Identification," a guard ordered.

"Do you really need any?" Italy growled. "You're all my subjects. Unless you want to take it up in court…" The guard looked at the two travelers. "Fine. Move along," he grumbled.

They eventually came upon the bustling, modern metropolis of Milan. It didn't take long to find their target. Lombard was snobbish, elitist, and reckless. The exact opposite person they wanted in power of a vulnerable nation in the midst of the biggest war the continent had seen in 75 years.

"Ah, Father!" Lombard called, waving his arm and smiling hugely. His smile vanished as quickly as Polish independence upon seeing the furious expression of Italy, and the scraggly boy in tow.

"Why are you angry, and why is _he _here?" Lombard inquired. "His… _type _aren't allowed in here, in case you haven't noticed."

That took Italy by complete surprise. "Hold up. What do you mean his type?"

Lombard pointed at a sign: RESIDENTI DEL MEZZOGIORNO SONO VIETATE A VIVERE NELLA REPUBBLICA DI PADANIA.

Italy's stomach fell. He hugged his son closer to him. "What did he do to you, Lombard? Tell me!" he bellowed. Lombard handled the fiery temper of his dad with extreme coolness. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, "and if you don't leave now, I'll have to deport you. Now, what is your choice?" Italy roared a curse at Lombard, and went back home with Mezzo.

"Well? How did it go?" Spain asked, but the look he got from Italy could've curdled Sicilian milk. "We'll take that as a sign that it didn't go well," Portugal told Vatican. Vatican nodded. "It's probably smart if you left," the older man said.

* * *

That evening, a black helicopter descended on a small, nondescript house in suburban Berlin. It contained but one individual.

They met inside the house. "Riesling?" Nazi Germany offered, gesturing the white wine towards the guest.

"Yes, please."

"Now, you said you came with a deal."

"I did."

"Well?" Nazi Germany said, sipping.

"I'm willing to offer you this area here," Italy said, gesturing to the Padanian nation.

Nazi Germany raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared. "You're selling your own son to me? For what?"

"I'm joining the Allies," Italy said. "If you attack Rome, or kill any of my family, I will come after you. And you will die." He said this with such effect that it took Nazi Germany aback.

After thinking on it for an eternity, Nazi Germany stood and said, "We have a deal. I get Padania, and if I attack Free Italy and/or kill any family members, you'll attack me." They shook.

After landing in St. Peter's Square, the helicopter took off. Italy stood there in the middle of the holiest spot in Catholicism. He knelt, prayed to God, and put a gun to his head.

"No."

Italy wavered. Vatican stood calmly right behind him.

"I have to, Father. I'm going to hell for what I've done."

"No," Vatican said, putting the hand of centuries of wisdom on Italy's shoulder. "You have sinned, but it is not worth ending your life here for. There may yet be a chance to redeem yourself. Son, listen to me." Italy looked into those ageless eyes that he had known ever since he was born. "It is not yet over."

* * *

As the other Allies were camping in Bavaria for the next two days as a safety precaution, that meant that Poland and Sister Sweden had to defend Warsaw for another weekend.

Two days of alone time.

They were sitting at dinner, just the two of them, when Poland set down his fork. He seemed to be praying. Than he addressed the female sitting across from him. Luckily for him, said female was about ten times more intuitive than him, so she addressed him first. "Yes, Poland?"

"Uh, er, well," Poland stammered. "Um, it's been a pleasure to have been able to spend some time with you."

Sister Sweden simply replied, "I see. The same to you."

Poland then slammed his fist down in frustration. "Dammit, Sweden! I don't know what to do. I feel like this whole thing is spinning out of control. What if someone gets killed? I can't live with that guilt!" Sister Sweden thought for a moment, and then said, "I'm telling you right now that someone will die. It's inevitable in war. But it won't be your fault. None of what's happening is your fault. See, what you suffer from is a major guilt complex. You've been wrongly blamed for so many unfortunate things that you've become accustomed to taking the blame for anything that goes wrong." She finished her food, then took Poland by the hand to a sofa. "We're going to have an emotional connection moment," she said. "Now, you've told me what your life has held, and your worries and frustrations. Now, it's time that I tell you mine."

"I'm like you in a lot of ways. Other than the two or maybe three others who know me enough to know the _real me_, the rest of the people who don't spend as much time around me sort of put me into a stereotype, just like you. And while people cast you as a thief, they cast me as a… well, a bit of a harlot. And I'm going to come clean with you. That's what I do for a living." Poland turned a violent shade of scarlet in embarrassment. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry, I didn't know," he managed to say. "I mean, er-" Sister Sweden cut him off with a well-placed index finger to his lips.

"Anyway… Most just think of me as, well, a body. According to some, I don't have a mind, a soul, a heart, nor personal morals. I'm just this mindless, ditzy whore who doesn't care about anything other than what affects her." At this point, she got visibly angry. "They forget that I'm a combat veteran, a Nobel Prize winner, and, most of all, a mother who's fiercely protective of her son. But no, I'm just a slut with no conscience." For the things she was saying, she was remaining very well composed; Poland thought it was her Swedish pacifism keeping her glued. "Now you probably don't want anything to do with me, don't you?"

"No."

Sister Sweden's day became 500% better. "What?"

"No. I came to terms with my conscience a while ago. You are right in that my culture and upbringing has told me that getting involved with someone like yourself would be contradictory to all that I've been taught from childhood: that the best women to marry are submissive Catholic virgins. It's gotten a little more tolerant, but for centuries you were the epitome of the person I should avoid: strong, independent, Lutheran, promiscuous. It took a lot, but I'm ready to move forward. I hold absolutely nothing against you, since I know you to be one of the most wonderful people on the face of this good, green Earth that the Creator has crafted. And if I am to believe that He is the molder and sculptor of time, then I should believe that you and I were meant to know each other. Beyond that, only we can experience and find out for ourselves."

Sister Sweden was taken by how profound that was. "Wow, Poland, I didn't know you to be a philosopher."

"I'm not, but I am a lot smarter than people give me credit for. I created the idea of a geocentric Solar System."

"And I created dynamite," Sister Sweden said.

"Inclusion laws."

"Meatballs."

"Alright, you win," Poland said, smiling by this point. They both laughed.

Then Sister Sweden leaned in and embraced him in a full-on kiss, which effectively shut him up.

It was nothing like he had ever experienced before. It was like time halted and became a liquid. He felt as if he was floating through a plasma-like entity, through space and time as colors melded in and out of focus. Then he was brought down to Earth rather rudely as Sister Sweden broke it off.

"Goodnight, love," she said, retreating into the upstairs guest room.

"Goodnight," Poland called.

* * *

_Italy is a friggin' mess._

_Not only is it ruled by one of the least stable governments on the European continent, it's also the site of frequent divisions (left over from the unification years). The South (known as the Mezzogiorno) used to be the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and was ruled from Naples (Rome was a state of the Church). It was (and still is) dirt poor, illiterate, agrarian, and very Catholic. Today, the Mezzogiorno includes Rome._

_The North (known to them as Padania) is the converse. They're more secular, wealthy, and more likely to be involved in business. Milan, the de facto capital of the north, feels a lot like London or New York City. There is a growing political movement to split the North off from the rest of Italy to form the Nation of Padania._

_Vatican used to control almost all of central Italy. In fact, it was the last region of the country to capitulate to the unification forces, since unification would mean the loss of Church lands and political power, something the Church had had since its conception._

_Of course Portugal would defeat Salazar with his eccentricities. Apparently, the vinho verde (green wine) is an underrated drink that is quite good (from what I've heard). The keelhauling and geography harks back to when Portugal was a maritime power with a fixed interest in maps._

_Copernicus, the guy who created the geocentric Solar System, was a Polish astronomer and priest._

_Nobel was Swedish, but I thought it would be fun for the Sister to have invented dynamite._

_Poland (for a time) was quite tolerant of its large Jewish population, adopting some of the first laws that incorporated Jews into the mainstream society._

_And what is Sister Sweden's Nobel Prize? I'll leave that to your imagination._


	20. Cannons!

"_Incoming!"_ Serbia bellowed, and a shell exploded above Belgrade Fortress. "_Prepare cannons, Croatia!"_

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Croatia yelled back. He and Kosovo were pushing a huge cannon into place. Kosovo loaded and primed it with gunpowder. Croatia inserted a large firing ball. "Locked and loaded!" he yelled back.

"Fire!"

Slovenia touched off the flint, and the cannon shook the room with a massive explosion. They watched as it destroyed a large section of the attacking Yugoslav camp, but thanks to the regenerative powers of their master the destroyed seemed to regenerate right before their eyes. "It's impossible!" Montenegro wailed. "We'll never be able to destroy them; they're invincible!"

"No, they're not," Macedonia piped up, cleaning a gun. "They're only invincible as long as Yugoslavia is still alive. If we kill him, the others will have no tether to this world and we should be able to eliminate them rather quickly."

"So the pertinent question is: how do we kill Yugoslavia?" Kosovo asked, prepping another cannon. "Here comes another one!" Serbia yelled, and they ducked, listening to a section of parapet above them crumbling. "To answer your question," Serbia said, "we find him, and hack his head off." Croatia grimaced. "Serbia, do all of your endgames result in decapitation?"

"Keep questioning me and find out," the Serb growled. "Okay guys, remember who the enemies is," Slovenia said, laughing nervously as he stepped between the two. "Step out of this," Croatia snarled, pushing Slovenia out of the way. Croatia and Serbia started tussling, and it was starting to get pretty violent.

"Stop it, stop it!" Montenegro yelled, grabbing Croatia and pulling him off; Kosovo did the same to Serbia. "Look, if we're going to banish this ghost once and for all, we need full cooperation."

"Cooperation? The only person in the history of ever to get us to cooperate was the guy we're currently fighting, and look how well that turned out!" Croatia yelled. Montenegro shrunk. "Okay, okay," she said quietly. "I'll go man the machine guns right about now." With that, she crept up the stairs.

"Seriously, though, guys," Macedonia said. "The last thing we need during two wars is another one. Can't we just stop fighting?"

"Speak for yourself," Croatia goggled. "When are you and Greece going to stop yelling at each other over a stupid name?"

Macedonia took a giant breath, then replied, "Look, let's just kill the Yugoslav and focus our attention on keeping the Germans and Russians out of here." Croatia and Serbia gave each other stink-eyes, then went back to work. Croatia and Kosovo went back to artillery duties, while Macedonia and Serbia worked on gunning. Slovenia joined Montenegro up in what remained of the castle's parapet, on sniper duty. This was the third day of fighting, and they were hoping to end it in time for the holiday season.

Soon enough, Montenegro came down thoroughly beside herself. "I killed him! I killed Yugoslavia!" Serbia and Croatia looked out, and sure enough, the multitude of undead Yugoslavs suddenly seemed to have no idea what to do.

Yugoslavia crumpled, then rose again. As he did, the army reformed and resumed bombarding the fort. As they took shelter, Serbia said, "You didn't get him in the head, did you?" Montenegro shook her head. "You gotta get him in the head," Serbia explained. "Honestly, am I the only one who's seen zombie movies?"

A messenger came to them bearing a cable from Albania; since the invasion, the neutral nations and Allies of Europe had resorted to telegraphs for contact, since Sweden discovered that the Forces of Darkness (as the enemy was now called) had planted traps in the servers and cell towers to intercept transmissions. Anyway, the cable bore a chilling message: _everyone needs to take cover. Brace for impact. _"Now what the heck does that mean?" Serbia grumbled, looking over the message several times. Croatia and Montenegro looked at each other. "I have a sneaking feeling," she said. Just then, Macedonia came bursting in, screaming, "_Take cover, dammit! Greece is firing missiles!"_

At that moment, a Hellfire missile came screaming in and blew the whole Yugoslav camp to hell. Nothing stirred, and then the whole Yugoslav army melted into the soil, as well as all of their weapons.

"Told you to take cover," came a Grecian grumble. They turned, and Greece was standing there in uniform. "It's a perk of being a NATO member. I get to play with America's toys. You guys okay?" The terrified Balkans nodded. "Good," said Greece with a finality. "Now, I'll leave you guys to figure things out on your own." And he left. "You know," Kosovo said quietly, "I think I want to just sleep through this one."

"For once, I agree with you," Serbia said, pulling himself out of the pile. "Croatia and Slovenia, you guys are on your own. We're not fighting this."

"Don't speak for all of us, Milosevic," warned Macedonia. He then turned to Croatia and said, "Yeah, I'm not in."

"Not here," Montenegro said. "Sorry."

Croatia sighed. "Fine," he said, "but don't count on us to defend you if you should be attacked."

And with that, everyone went their separate ways, Serbia and Kosovo on clean-up.

Slovenia caught up with Croatia. "Well, we knew it was a long shot," he said, trying to console the downtrodden Croat. "Yeah, but they should know that someone will attack them at some point."

* * *

"They're weak and vulnerable," Sister Nazi Germany purred. "Ripe for the taking. Rebuild your empire. Restore the old glory." She snaked around the young and impressionable Venice, whispering in his ear and petting his jet-black hair. "You know, I'll reward you if you're successful." Weak of mind and body, he had no answer to counteract her words.

He approached Zagreb first. Mindless and practically possessed by Madame Nazi Sadomasochist, he burst into Croatia's home and yanked him out of bed. "Now," he drolled, "you're mine," tossing the flabbergasted Croatia onto the floor like a rag doll. He bound and gagged him with duct tape and threw him into the cellar, moving on south. After hog-tying Montenegro and Albania, he moved on to Athens.

Unfortunately for him, Greece was waiting.

"So, Venice, you want to become a world power again," he said, wielding a grenade launcher. "Unfortunately, if you don't leave, I'll have to use this on you. And last I checked, you're mortal." Growling, Venice attacked Greece, pinning him to the ground. "Oh, no you don't," the elder nation growled. He was starting to resist when an invisible individual picked Venice up and threw him across the room.

"_Sis?" _Greece asked incredulously. Sure enough, Sister Greece brushed the dirt off of her chiton. "Listen, when I hear someone attack my brother, I get angry," she grumbled, turning a glare at the crippled Venezia. He got up, retrieved his grenade launcher, and said, "Look, if you leave, then I'll pretend that this never happened."

Just then the apparition of Sister Nazi Germany appeared, and Sister Greece got visibly furious. "You! You possessed him!"

"Of course I did, sweetheart, anything for the glory of the empire," she said, taking a glance at the crumpled form of Venice. "Now, you aren't going to forget our little… romance?"

"I'd rather date Sparta than remember that," the Greek girl spat.

"Shame," Sister Nazi Germany said. "Guess I'll have to remind you." But Greece was waiting for it. As Sister Nazi Germany reached for Sister Greece's neck, he clocked her with a punch to the solar plexus. "Now, you are going to leave," he said. "I've had enough evil in my house. Thanks to you, I'm going to need new icons." He took the two offending nations and threw them out of his house. As he closed the door, a text trilled for Greece. It was from Bosnia. _You might want to check on your Balkan neighbors._

After freeing the imprisoned Croatia, Montenegro, and Albania, the latter two told Greece, "We're joining the Allies."

* * *

When Belgium arrived in Paris, it was like a real-life enactment of the battle scene from Les Miserables. He found Brother France manning an artillery battery near the Arc du Triomphe. Nazi forces kept pouring in, and the Free French forces kept pounding at them. Pretty soon, they had repulsed all Nazis within the city center. "On to the garrison!" Brother France called out. With a mass of cheers, civilians bearing arms overtook the Nazi command post. After reducing the garrison to rubble, Brother France told Belgium, "Hey, come raise the flag!" They climbed up the Arc du Triomphe and took down the Nazi flag, replacing it with the Tricolore. The thralls down below cheered like nothing before.

"So, uh, what happened?" Belgium asked. "Nazi Germany invaded," Brother France said. "He's taken over the whole country; my sister is in hiding in Monaco. But we got Paris back, as you can see." Belgium was too confused to talk properly. "Wait, France is in exile? In Monaco? Why don't you guys take over the rest of France?" Brother France shook his head. "Nazi Germany has the rest of the country under his thumb. He just arrived in Paris, so we had a bit of an advantage; we less beat them in battle than kicked them out of the city. He's found a replacement for his New Vichy. Lille." Belgium paled. "That's right next door to me!"

"So, what's the plan now? Guess we're Allies now, huh?" Belgium asked as Parisians started to clean up from the rebellion. Brother France shrugged. "Dunno. Paris will be the capital of Free France, that's for sure. We're sure as heck not giving it to Marseille."

_Speaking of Marseille…_

France readjusted her beret and ordered another bottle of wine. Drowning her sorrows in red liquid… _the uncouth had hops, the sophisticated had grapes_, she always thought. Monaco had been very kind in letting her stay there after her ambush, but she was able to banish enough Nazis to reclaim Marseille. The obtaining of the nation's second city was a coup; it gave her access to a port and potentially a liberation attempt. But since Free France consisted of Paris and the French Riviera, she thought it prudent to flee and let her brother manage the mess with Belgium's help, assuming that Belgium had answered the SOS. She flagged down a speedboat.

"Can you take me somewhere?" she asked the driver.

"Where might that be, _madame?"_

She thought for a moment. Italy was an unsure bet, especially considering the recent civil war.

"Take me to Barcelona."

* * *

As shit was going down in the Balkans, Sister Sweden was staying up late, reading a book she brought called _Vanished Kingdoms_; she had always been a fan of history. Sister Sweden was reading? With reading glasses? Who knew?

At about midnight, Poland knocked on the door. "Hey, could you come with me?" he asked. Slightly confused, she set the book down and but on her bathrobe. He was wearing some sort of outfit. In the light of the nightstand lamp, she saw it was the Teutonic vestments.

He took her outside, where the snow was falling gently. "Poland, where are we going?" she asked, wary. He was taking her into the vast forest.

After walking what seemed like forever, they came to a spot where there was no snow. Muttering in Latin, a hole opened in the ground. "Only Hungary knows about this, so I need your promise not to tell anyone," he begged. Still confused, she promised. He continued chanting, and what happened terrified Sister Sweden.

A body floated out of the hole and collapsed on the ground. It seemed to be a little girl. Then, as if she was attached to marionette strings, she was jerked upright, and gained consciousness. Her eyes flitted open. Poland, overjoyed, ran up to her and held her tightly.

"Brother?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"Yes. Yes, sister, it's me."

Sister Sweden put her hand slowly to her open mouth, tears forming.

"How am I alive?"

"I brought you back for a short time. I couldn't bear not seeing you anymore."

"But it's been over 75 years."

"A day doesn't go by when I don't miss you."

He was still firmly attached to her.

"It was cruel of you to be taken from me so soon."

"But that's life, brother. It's all part of-"

"-God's plan, I know. But I want you to know that you will be saved. You were devout and you performed many mitzvahs."

"Thanks, brother."

"I have to leave you now, before I become too attached."

"Wait."

She turned towards Sister Sweden, and she got her only good look of Sister Poland. She was just a pretty little girl, no more than 10. She wore a modest dress that was torn and bloodied, and in the same bicolor form as the Polish flag.

And with that, she scrawled back into her mass grave, and he reburied her.

It was very quiet. Only the falling snow in the plains outside of the forest could be heard for several minutes. Finally, Sister Sweden asked, "Was that your-?"

"My sister? Yes," he said very quietly. "She was a Jew, you see, and when Nazi Germany invaded… well, she was taken from me. She was sent to Sobibor. And murdered. She was only eight." His voice started to crack. "I found her after the war, in this mass grave." It was silent for a few, then they walked back to the house in silence. After removing the garments, Poland started to cry. "Hey, hey, hey," Sister Sweden said, hugging him. The crying turned into sobbing.

As they lay in bed together, Poland curled up into a ball. Sister Sweden lay awake, looking up at the ceiling. She had never experienced such tragic loss before in her life. In terms of loss, the Nordics were very sheltered. They didn't put up with much. But after meeting Sister Poland, Sister Sweden felt a similar pang of sorrow, despite not knowing the other. Such a picture of beauty did not deserve such an end, and then she remembered that she was among millions who suffered such an end. With that sobering thought, she hugged her new boyfriend closer to her, protecting him with her life from that same fate.

* * *

_I know, that last scene was a bit heavy, but I felt that Poland's sister needed to be addressed. Since almost all of the larger countries have a sibling, it's only natural to ask: Where is Poland's? And since Poland's history is tied heavily to that of its Jewish population, the natural answer would be: she was a Jew murdered in the Holocaust._

_Poland lost more people proportionally than any other country in World War Two: 50% of its population was dead by 1945. Its Jewish population went from 2,000,000 in 1939 to a present-day estimate of about 25,000; this was one of the hardest hit nations in the Holocaust as well._

_And yet, Judaism plays an intricate role in Polish history. Poland, when it was occupied by Russia in the 19th century, was in territory deemed by the Tzar as "the Pale", the only place in Russia where Jews could live; therefore, when Poland became an independent nation in 1918, most of those Jews ended up in Poland. And the impact they had was tremendous. Polish cuisine still bears a lot of thanks to the Jewish culture._

_As for the rest..._

_The Balkans fighting in a coherent fashion is almost laughable. Tito was the glue that kept Yugoslavia together; upon his death, they quickly broke out in civil war._

_Of course Venice would try to take back what was rightfully his._

_I'm sorry if this chapter is really rushed._

_Oh, and Vanished Kingdoms is a really good book. I suggest reading it if you're into history._


	21. The Rebel and the Traitor

The Arabian desert is full of dichotomies. Temperatures went from a handful of degrees Centigrade to the hottest on Earth in a matter of hours. The sands went from teeming with life during the night to virtually empty during the scorching day. Near-freezing nights and broiling days, cute little rodents and terrifying arachnids, and the two Semitic groups who always seemed to be blaming the world's problems on each other.

In this land of contrasts, a small caravan of camels made their way through the desert of Northern Iraq, making their way south. As it skirted past Mosul, the second largest city in Iraq, it came upon a cave blasted into the rock outside of town.

Nazi Germany disembarked. He surveyed the parched surroundings. "Go make sure we haven't been followed," he ordered two SS. They duly obliged. As soon as they were out of sight, he entered the cave with several camels bearing a tremendous load; he also entered with a sledge piled high with something covered by a blanket.

A slave girl beckoned him into the cave's inner sanctum, where his host sat on a crude throne cut out of stone, sharpening a large knife. Several Kalashnikovs sat near him. With a snap of his fingers, two slaves brought Nazi Germany a seat, a platter of lamb, and a goblet of wine.

"Please, entertain me with your gifts," said the host.

"Ah, yes," Nazi Germany said. He uncovered the gift that the sledge was bearing: several dozen solid gold ingots. The host's eyebrows were raised a little. "That's impressive. Where did you obtain all of that?"

Nazi Germany shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It was liquified from the assets of enemies of the state," he replied with measured words.

"I see," the host said.

Nazi Germany studied him for a bit. He was definitely a teenager, and a pretty scraggly-looking one at that. His head was topped with a decent bush of black, loose, curly hair, and a decent amount of facial hair had already started to grow. But Nazi Germany knew better than to underestimate him; according to others, he was like a snake- attacking quickly, killing quickly. Nazi Germany had read some his exploits and admired his methods.

"Do you have anything else?" the Arab asked Nazi Germany. "Oh, yes, yes," he said, bringing in the camels. He revealed them to be carrying even more gold, as well as rockets, grenade launchers, assault rifles, and other arms.

"Now, is that all?"

Nazi Germany nodded.

"Good. Let's talk. Please sit."

Nazi Germany did as he was told. He started to gnaw on a lamb chop; the desert fare he had been subsiding on was barely substandard.

"Now, if I understand you correctly," the mysterious host said, "you have some, er, conditions on all of this here treasure?"

Nazi Germany took a gulp of wine and said, "That's correct."

"Well, what may they be?"

"Condition one: You, by accepting this treasure, are agreeing to an alliance with me and my people."

The Arab shrugged. "Easy enough. What's the next term?"

"That upon conquering the region, you give me possession of the Jewish land."

"Israel?"

Nazi Germany took another gulp of wine. "That's correct."

"Hmm," his host thought. "Hmm. I would like to have her for myself, but I see why you would, too. I have a resolution. I keep her for my harem, and you can dispose of her brother."

Nazi Germany thought on that. "Agreed," he said.

"Good," the host said, standing up. "Let this day mark a milestone in the friendship between our two nations."

And Nazi Germany shook the Arab's hand, pleased with himself. _I'd like to see you figure this one out, Polack,_ he thought to himself.

* * *

As morning dawned in Warsaw, Poland started to stir. He felt restrained by something. To his horror, it was his girlfriend.

"_Gah!" _he yelled. "What, what is it?" Sister Sweden said, shaking herself awake. "You! You were in, in _bed _with me!" he said, mildly disgusted.

"Yeah, so?" she said.

He thought for a moment. "It was just kinda weird."

"Sorry."

"Whatever."

They went back to sleep. Just as they fell back into the same positions as they were in, the front door exploded open with a tremendous _bang. _He heard footsteps bound up the stairs, and his bedroom door flew open.

"WE'RE HO-" Sweden began to yell. Than he saw his sister and Poland in what he assumed to be a compromising position.

Poland nearly literally shot out of bed. Sister Sweden groggily raised her head, and when she spotted her brother she became very, very awake. "Nothing happened," she said hastily, quickly getting dressed. "Okay, sure," Sweden said, scared of being beaten again.

When the two got downstairs, America catcalled, "There's the two lovebirds!"

"Good to see you again, mate," Hungary said, patting his best friend on the back. "Same to you," Poland replied. "How'd the battle go?"

"Nazi Germany suffered defeat in the war's first major battle," said a proud Sweden to a chorus of applause and cheers. "And we have successfully rescued the four prisoners. America, will you fetch them, please?"

The superpower returned in a visibly ill state. "There's only three," he gasped. "One's escaped."

"Who?" asked Sweden.

"Waffle dude."

"Belgium's missing?" Netherlands said, coming to.

"Yeah."

"Well, let's listen to England's radio. Maybe we'll get some tip offs."

"There's a problem with that," Hungary said. "It's going to be incredibly difficult to get the BBC when Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia are watching all signals. They'll probably have jammed that signal to this region, in an effort to cut us off."

Poland thought, then smiled. "Hold on a sec," he said. He ran up to his room, dug around, and came down with a wooden contraption. Hungary eyes went wide. "Is that…? No way. No way you've kept that thing."

"What is it?" Confederate America asked.

"A transistor radio I built back in the day," Poland said proudly. "It got me access to the BBC during my time under Nazi Germany, and then also access to Radio Free Europe during my time as a Soviet satellite. It should still work. If not, I have boxes of spare parts." He blew the dust off, tested it, and then started to slowly tune it until he found what he was looking for.

"...and now we go to world news," came the comfortingly familiar voice of England. "In the war that has now enveloped most of the Continent, the Balkan republics of Croatia, Slovenia, Serbia, Montenegro, Kosovo, and Macedonia defeated an attempt to reestablish a communist Yugoslavia that would inevitably be allied with Soviet Russia in the Battle of Belgrade. They were aided by NATO rockets from Greece.

"Elsewhere, the city of Paris has been successfully recaptured and has been established capital of Free France, which now consists of the regions of Provence, Languedoc, Aquitaine, Midi-Pyrenees, Rhone-Alpes, Franche-Comte, and Alsace. France herself is in exile. Her brother and Belgium are making slow progress against the Nazi scourge that has taken firm control of the rest of the country. Prayers to our French comrades.

"We are receiving reports that Nazi Germany has been expulsed from Bavaria by an Allied army, led by Sweden and Hungary. The current whereabouts of Nazi Germany himself is unknown, but it is widely believed that he has moved his base of operations to Northern Germany.

"Here are the three camps as of today: the Allies consist of the Nordics, the Baltics, Austria, the Kingdom of Bavaria, Free Russia, Free Italy, the Iberians, Free Germany, Imperial Germany, the Low Countries, Free France, and all former European Soviet Bloc nations except for Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, and Romania; the Balkan states of Greece, Bulgaria, Croatia, Slovenia, Albania, and Montenegro are part of it as well. Non-Europeans include America, Confederate America, and Canada.

"The neutral powers are myself, Northern Ireland, Ukraine, Turkey, Vatican, and the remaining Balkan states of Serbia, Kosovo, and Macedonia.

"Allies of Nazi Germany include Soviet Russia, northern France, Belarus, and northern Italy.

We will continue to update you as soon as we get new information. Stay strong, Europe."

Static.

"Well, that explains a few things," said Hungary after a long pause. "Yeah, like where those two Balkans ran off to," Faroe Islands said. "I was beginning to think that they had ditched us."

"They were on a mission to gauge the sentiments in the region," Poland said. "I sent them there."

"From the sounds of it, they were also doing some fighting," Sweden pointed out. "I knew there was something fishy about Yugoslavia." Poland hit himself in the head. "Oh, _bzdury!" _he groaned. "I should've thought of that!"

"Should've, could've, would've," sang America.

"Now, I see why y'all are excited and whatnot," said Confederate America, "but has anyone bothered to check on our freed prisoners?"

As the prisoners were separated and tended to, Poland gathered the troops. "Now that we're all here, I'd like to announce a new rule."

"I will be posting a night watch schedule starting tonight. It will be by rotation, based on region. Nordics, you're up first."

According to said schedule, Faroes was to be on watch that night.

* * *

Nazi Germany was sitting in his throne room, hidden in a bunker underneath Berlin. He was plotting.

He needed to make an impact on the Allies after his resounding defeat. He checked his crop, which he had instilled with power from the Teutonic vestments. As of yet, he had to discover that they were no longer in possession of the Forces of Darkness. The crop still had most of its magic left.

Than he got an idea.

A terrible, awful idea.

* * *

"Be sure to lock up when you leave," Poland called as he went to bed.

"Will do," Faroes said, sharpening his knife and loading his gun.

_Let's see, _he thought. _Gun and ammo? Check. Knife? Check. Warm hat? Check. Armor? Check. Helmet? Check._

He went out the door, locked it, and walked across the snowy field to the perimeter fortress wall. Clambering up the ladder, he manned his post on top of the wall. He could see for what seemed like miles with the moon illuminating the fresh snow.

He walked back and forth, back and forth. Then he heard a _clang. _Whipping around, he saw nothing, even with a flashlight. Then it was a rustle. Instinctively, he reached for his knife. Only there was no knife there.

Extremely wary at this point, he searched frantically for his knife.

_Stab._

He felt a searing pain in his left leg. Stifling a scream, he tumbled to the ground, losing his flashlight in the process.

_It's just a dream, a bad dream, _he thought.

He whipped out his gun, but with no light he couldn't see where he was firing. The gun was pulled out of his hands by a figure who Faroes could only see via silhouette. The figure was shorter, skinny, and had the craziest hair since…

Wait…

_OH GOD!_ Faroes thought.

He found his flashlight, but before he could grasp it-

_Stab._

This time it was in his right lung. He was dying, that he knew for sure. With his motor skills going away rapidly, he shined the flashlight in the general direction of his assailant. It revealed a Denmark that nobody knew; this Denmark had cold, vacant eyes and an expression of pure murder on his face. He was kneeling above Faroes, holding the island's knife. The white blade dripped with Faroese blood.

"Denmark, why?" Faroe Islands gasped. "Denmark… please, I'm a friend…"

And with the utmost intent, Denmark did it in one fluid motion. Than he ran.

_Stab._

This time, it was Faroes' throat.

_My God, why have you forsaken me? _Faroes thought.

The stars shifted out of focus, and the lifeless body of the Faeroe Islands lay motionless in the snow, streams of red radiating from him in the shape of a rose.

* * *

_Short chapter, but that's because it was particularly emotional._

_I'm not going to reveal the mysterious Arab, but I'll leave it to you guys to guess. It should be easy._

_And the death of Faroe Islands does have a purpose. You'll have to wait until next chapter for it, though._


	22. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

The next morning, Poland woke up with a sense of uneasiness, even though there was no ground for it. He hadn't heard anything, and Faroes would've sent for help if something had happened. So he didn't know why his first instinct was to check on the night watch. As he opened the door, a hand clasped onto his shoulder. He spun around, only to find Sister Denmark, bleary-eyed and in a moderately disheveled state.

"Hey, Poland."

"Good morning?" he responded, a little confused.

"Have you seen my brother? He didn't join us for our victory celebration, which is highly unusual."

"No, I haven't. I was just going to check on Faroes."

"I'll come with. It's better than sleeping in the position I was in."

As they walked towards the perimeter wall, Sister Denmark glanced over at the fretful Poland. She frowned. "Are you expecting something? Did something happen that you're not telling me?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's just a gut feeling I have. Something feels wrong."

They reached the wall. At first, nothing was different. But it was unnaturally quiet.

_Drip._

Something dripped onto Poland's head. Sister Denmark looked him with an expression of worry. "Uh, Poland? You might want to check your hair." Confused, he wiped whatever it was off.

His hand was red.

They stepped back, and a moment later another drip came down. They looked at the spot it landed, and, without moving their heads, rolled their eyes upward towards the top of the wall.

Poland clambered up, Sister Denmark following shortly thereafter. What he saw made him sick.

* * *

Sister Denmark's ear-splitting scream immediately woke up everybody. Several countries came stumbling out of the house, and spotted Sister Denmark kneeling over something while Poland was busy retching.

The latter nation, after gaining some control over himself, climbed down and halted the crowd. "Everybody, go back inside. Inside, now!" he yelled. Confused, they did. He pulled Sister Sweden aside and said, "Go keep them calm. Don't tell anybody anything. There's been a murder." Aghast and white as a sheet, she did as she was told.

He went back up. Sister Denmark had stopped crying, but she was still mourning over Faroes' body. "C'mon, let's take him home," Poland said gently. Nodding, she and Poland carefully lowered Faroes by way of pulley.

When they got in the house, they set him down on a blanket on the floor in the middle of the living room. It was mostly dead silent, but there a few quiet Oh my Gods and facial expressions showing extreme emotional restraint.

"We found him like this in a large pool of blood," Poland said. "Everything, save his shirt and pants, was stripped and missing."

Dead silence. Then Sweden said, "Who's going to tell Greenland?"

"Tell me what?"

Greenland looked at the sorrowful expressions of everyone in the room, then looked down.

"Russia, we're going to need you," Poland muttered.

Russia arrived just in time. Greenland screamed, yelled, thrashed to get free of Russia's restraint; it was only when he bit him that he broke loose. He shook his best friend's body, but he didn't wake. In an absolute right state, he refused to listen or obey anyone. Then, he screamed, "_Where is he? I know he murdered him! I know he killed him! WHERE IS HE?_"

At that point, a powerful body lifted Greenland off of his feet and held him in a headlock. Everyone froze and stared. It was Denmark. He held Faroes' blood-stained knife to Greenland's throat. "If any of you make so much as a move, I'll dispose of him, too," he growled, clenching Greenland's throat tighter.

Greenland, turning purple, mouthed, _help me!_

Poland caught Denmark's gaze, and for a moment he thought he had glimpsed the eyes of the Devil himself. Denmark was possessed, that was for sure; and it wasn't exactly a mystery as to who had taken a hold of him.

Denmark released Greenland, who started turning back to a normal shade, and slithered in Poland's direction. Poland motioned for the Brute Force Task Squad to begin work. Then, yelling, Denmark attacked, throwing himself towards Poland, who scrambled away.

As Denmark crawled towards the frightened Poland, America and Russia sneaked up behind and assailed the attacker, holding him down while he spat and cursed. "Bah!" he roared. "_You have no idea what powers I possess now! I have seen the truth!_"

"He needs an exorcism," America grunted, practically sitting on Denmark's legs as the Scandinavian continued screaming bloody murder.

"Unfortunately, the one who can perform one strong enough to rid him of whatever's holding onto him is a neutral nation," said Poland, looking coldly down on the Dane. The latter nation smiled insanely. "I have a message for you from my Lord," he giggled. "He will find you and make you feel suffering as has never been felt before. If you continue resisting him, he will annihilate you." Poland crumpled to his knees.  
" How do you know this?" Poland moaned.

"I was told by my Lord, who is the salvation of this continent," Denmark muttered, still violently struggling against the superpower bonds that were restraining him from murdering most of the people in the room.

"And who is this 'Lord', brother?" Sister Denmark asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

"The National Socialist State of Germany."

Germany fainted at the mention of the name. His brother had possessed one of his closest friends. As Kaiser Germany reached down to pick him up, Denmark said, "I wouldn't do that." Ignoring him, he did it anyway. Immediately, he clutched his head in pain. It was like a flashlight being shone in his eyes whilst in the midst of a nasty hangover. "I told you," Denmark said, amused, as if he had pulled off some great parlor trick.

"Stop."

A new voice, full of righteous authority, came from the other room. A heavenly light radiated through the house, accompanied by an angelic chorus from the heavens.

Vatican.

"Look, I don't normally make house calls," he said, "but this is different."

"Evil lives all through the world; murders happen all the time. I can't possibly be the one to stop all of it. But the closest thing to evil incarnate on this planet taking hold of an innocent person and driving him to murder his comrade? That gets my attention."

He turned his attention to the offender. He did not interact with him like Denmark himself had murdered Faroes, but rather the nation living inside of him. Consequently, this provided a mildly uncomfortable moment for the friends of Denmark when Vatican called him Nazi Germany.

"Bind and gag him," Vatican ordered. "It will make the whole process a little less messy."

"But won't he hurt himself trying to get free?" Sweden protested.

"He'll kill anyone within 20 feet of him if left unbound," Vatican said. "Also, I'd rather not have insults and saliva hurled at me while performing a rite. I'll unbind him when I need to."

They did as he asked.

Vatican kneeled next to Denmark, and put his thumb to the Dane's forehead. Immediately he withdrew it. Washing himself, he put both hands firmly on top of Denmark's skull, allowing him momentary access to the contents of his mind. This was incredibly risky; it was a two-way process, and Nazi's spirit could infect Vatican if it wanted to. However, possessing God's emissary to Earth took a lot more magic than Nazi Germany was willing to expend.

He saw a lot of chaos. Almost none of it was Danish, which meant that Nazi Germany had completely taken over Denmark's brain. After severing the mind link, Vatican broke the grim news. "Nazi Germany has completely and wholly possessed Denmark. He wouldn't even be able to resist if he wanted to. At this point, he's pretty much Nazi Germany in a Danish shell. The exorcism will be long and most certainly painful. Is there a spare room where I could set up shop?" Poland nodded, and showed Vatican upstairs.

Hungary and Poland ushered everyone back into the living room. "We're now in a state of emergency. Everyone is to report back to their capitals at once. No exceptions."

What they didn't realize was what Nazi Germany was doing next.

* * *

"Who do you serve?"

"Nazi Germany," Sister Germany droned, dropping the defensive knife she was holding.

"Good. Capitulate," he said, gleeful.

She dropped to one knee.

"You are my Number One now. Your brother, father, and son will be returning home soon. Capture and imprison them."

"Yes, my lord."

"Weimar!" Nazi Germany barked. The painfully obedient nation sauntered in. Without saying a word, Nazi Germany shot him.

Laughing maniacally, he entered the Reichstag. "There will be no need for this," he said as he looked over the Parliamentary chamber. He set blaze to the building. Moving out to Wannsee, he mounted the throne he had erected.

"I have a very important mission for you," he said to the newly resurrected figure now standing before him. "I think you know what it is."

"Yes, my lord," said Vidkun Quisling.


End file.
